


Black Holes and Revelations

by Theboys



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Cock & Ball Torture, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Fingerfucking, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:23:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 93,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5411498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So like, he has to fuck his way through Hell, right? To claim the Throne?” Danni continues, and that’s enough to make Jensen pause in his diligent effort to right-click and zoom.</p><p>Jensen reviews sex-toys for a magazine, and Jared's not marketing to straight girls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/105227.html?thread=39748107#t39748107) at spn_kinkmeme (contains spoilers if you care to read).
> 
> Song title taken from the band Muse.

There’s a categorized list of Shit That Jensen Takes Seriously.

His job is like, numbers one, two and three.

Only his closest friends know that he works as a reviewer for sex toys, and that’s more due to a concerted avoidance of prying questions about his sex life (or lack thereof). Jensen gets laid often enough, thanks.

He started while he was in college, it helped pay the bills, and uh--free orgasms? Was that even a question? He’d worked it out as a system of checks and balances. Good test grades led to a fabulous release.

He’s twenty-six now, four years clean from college and still going strong in his profession of choice.

He’d majored in journalism, so who cares if he’s utilizing his degree in a less than conventional manner? Mama Ackles probably would, but she’s blissfully in the dark, where she will remain until Jensen’s been six feet deep for a modicum of at least seven years.

Did he mention that he gets to watch porn as a perk of his job? It's not strictly necessary, but he shoves things up his ass for a living, and gets to detail the experience. He can do whatever he wants.

So basically, he sets up Friday evenings as tester days, and Sundays he gets down to business. His love life has been gone with the wind for like, three months now, and he’s perfectly content with this arrangement.

Content enough.

Right now he’s really into a series of dildos that have a flat support attached to the bottom. The added feature acts as a thin vibrator for his own rim. It slides up so easy, like a plug, wide at the base, and then when you use the adjoining remote control--Jensen is so ready to compose odes to this machine.

Like sonnets. Wherefore-hast-thou-been all his life type shit. So, he’s like, knee deep in an article praising the merits of The Satisfaction, (even the name is tasteful), when his phone rings. This is always irritating because only two people would call him on Sunday.

His mother, even though he’s explained to her countless times that he continues to reserve Sunday for catching up on work and Church--although he’s about twelve years slacking on the latter, and Danni, who literally _works_ with him, and therefore should be observant to all his idiosyncrasies concerning this job.

He almost knocks his Iphone off of his desk, and he glances forlornly between Mac and phone before sliding the button to Answer.

“If you’re not calling me drunk from the throes of a post-orgasm high, m’hanging up.” Jensen says tersely. There’s a distinctly unladylike snort from the other end, and then what sounds like the clang of an oven door.

Jensen sighs. She’s fucking baking again. Why she can’t bake in silence he’ll never understand.

“You sure you tested anything on Friday, Jay?” Danni says, her voice slightly muffled, probably due to the fact that the oven-mitts she’s wearing are blocking her speakers. Again.

“Doesn’t sound like there’s any room in your ass alongside that stick you’re already keeping warm.” Danni says, and it’s almost saccharine sweet. He’s halfway into a laugh before he remembers he was supposed to be offended, but then he thinks, fuck it.

It’s not that serious, and it’s not the first time she’s done this, and he highly doubts it’ll be the last. “Alright Sin City,” Jensen says, clacking half-heartedly at his keys, “any particular reason you called right in the middle of my inspiration block?”

Danni sighs like she’s sitting down, and then speaks. “So you know The King, right?” Danni says hesitantly, and Jensen is already halfway to hanging up.

“Wait!” She hollers, and Jensen pauses long enough to let her redeem herself.

“There's a thing,” Danni says. “He's got a thing. He's doing a thing,” she tries again.

Jensen is so not in the mood.

“What's The King up to now,” Jensen says, saying the (fucking pretentious) name with as much sarcasm as he can muster.

“His last trilogy of movies was gold and you know it,” Danni says, and there's a little bit of kickback to her voice that gives Jensen pause.

Jensen’s googling the movies even as he snorts derisively.

 _Supernatural_ is apparently a three movie arc about the otherworldly properties of The King’s dick. His dick. Jensen’s irritated and morbidly intrigued all at the same time. Danni’s still talking, and now her words are slurred, probably with the fresh baked cookies she’s shoving into her mouth.

“So like, you know the last movie in the _Supernatural_ series, where like, he has to save the world?” Danni says.

Jensen’s looking at screencaps from the first movie, and he’s fairly sure there’s a slew of people dressed like witches, or--or demons, but he can’t be sure, not from that angle.

“So like, he has to fuck his way through Hell, right? To claim the Throne?” Danni continues, and that’s enough to make Jensen pause in his diligent effort to right-click and zoom.

“Wait, what?” Jensen sputters. “Like, with his dick? Like, what, fuck his way through Dante’s Inferno?” Jensen says, and he’s well aware that his voice is too loud for the confines of his modest two-bedroom apartment, but the idea is beyond preposterous.

“Yesss,” Danni elongates, and Jensen gets the feeling that this is going nowhere good, and fast. “Apparently, he goes through like twelve guys--I haven’t finished it though, I was planning on doing that today.” Danni says. “Maybe with you, if you weren’t acting like such an ass right now--” Jensen growls into the phone and cuts her off mid-rant.

“Danneel. There’s an honest-to-God reason why you’re telling me all this, right?” Jensen says, and he hears Danni hum under her breath.

“So, apparently the movies are so popular that they’re making a line of toys.” Danni pauses. “Based on the series.” Danni stops speaking entirely.

Jensen’s mouth is so dry he actually hacks up a lung trying to respond. “You mean, based off his dick,” Jensen says, for lack of a more substantial comeback. He can practically hear Danni’s placating nod on the other end, and Jensen stands, clips his knee against the edge of his desk.

He wanders into his living room, aimless, and he barely focuses on the off-white beige of his couch. He flops down theatrically, and ignores Danni’s sigh.

“You know Collins is gonna call you,” Danni says needlessly, and Jensen can hear the jealousy under the platitude.

“You can have it,” Jensen says stubbornly, and Danni laughs, long and annoyingly into his ear. Jensen picks at a loose thread on his couch and pointedly does not hang up on her.

“Baby, The King is the toppiest bastard around right now.” Danni says. “He’s not marketing to straight little girls like me.”

Jensen groans. “I know. I know that.” Danni’s quiet for a record-breaking thirty seconds and then, “It’s not his fault Jay,” and Jensen knows he should’ve quit while he was ahead. “I mean,” Danni continues, “it’s not The King’s fault that Ty could only, ya know, get his engine in gear--”

“Danneel.” Jensen says, but she shushes him. “We don’t talk about this,” Danni says. “You never let me talk about this!” Danni yells. Jensen’s so flustered that now he kind of wants to apologize to her for not allowing her the proper grief over his dismal love life.

“It was weird. He was weird about it.” Danni’s voice is lower, more soothing, and Jensen closes his eyes. “You just have to try the thing. Write a review, and then never speak of it again.” Danni finishes, dramatically.

“He ruined my relationship,” Jensen whines, and it’s half-inarticulate, but pained, nonetheless. Danni doesn’t say anything for a second, and then her voice comes on clear, first time this entire conversation.

“I know, baby. I know.”

-

They call him.

He’s not surprised at all, he’s been reviewing toys like this since his twinkish college days, and now the only stipulation he has is that they don’t show his face.

He’s used to comments detailing how they wish they were the ones “stuffing that hungry ass,” but Jensen has lost the ability to even smile wryly at the disgraceful porn-speak.

He can fill his own ass, thanks, and then write a critical review on the pros and cons of the instrument.

His boss calls him not but an hour after he hangs up with Danni, and subsequently turns on Transformers 3, which ostensibly remains his favorite. Action movies are his comfort time, and when his phone lights up, he almost curses Danni out before looking at it.

Instead, he has time to school his voice into nonchalance as his boss excitedly explains to him that he’ll need to pump out a review concerning the first in The King’s new line of sex toys. Collins is practically gushing over the line, and Jensen wonders, for the umpteenth time, how she can wear all-white for the entirety of the movie and not get a speck of dirt _anywhere._

“Jensen?” Jensen snaps back to the conversation at hand and clears his throat. “Sorry, Collins,” Jensen replies, and he hears his boss sigh. “Are you watching Transformers again?” Jensen rolls his eyes to high heaven and curses the fact that he and his boss are such good friends.

“The first one,” Jensen lies, and Collins sounds relieved. “Good. I’m having it sent over this evening, so get your ass in gear.” Collins guffaws loudly at his own pun, and Jensen manages a weak laugh, because Collins uses the same one every time.

“This is good shit, Jay,” Collins continues. “This is a publicist dream.” Jensen smiles against his will. “It’s astonishing, I can literally _hear_ you preparing to kiss ass--over the phone,” Jensen says.

Collins cackles. Witch-like. “Good luck, Jensen. Talk to you later.”

Jensen shoves his phone deep down between the couch cushions and wonders if Optimus Prime ever has these problems. Probably not, Jensen surmises. Cause he’s a robot. So.

-

It’s called the Hellhound.

Jensen’s afraid to unwrap the damn thing when it shows up on his doorstep, so he waits three days--the most he can manage to hold out, before he tears the box open.

It’s a Wednesday.

It’s wrapped in styrofoam and bubble-wrap, the annoying kind with the over-huge bubbles.

Jensen pops two, loudly, out of spite.

It’s certainly--majestic looking. It’s all black, and it’s twelve inches long. Jensen’s good at marking length just by sight, can do it in less than three seconds. He sniffs. It’s supposed to be modeled exactly after The King’s dick.

Jensen seriously has his doubts that the guy is this long and thick around, but he’s probably wrong. After all, Ty made sure he saw the guy's dick up close and personal every fucking chance he got. Jensen wants to throw the damn thing across the room, but he settles for sharply sucking in his air instead.

It’s surprisingly lightweight without being flimsy. It’s thick in his hand, and he guesses it must be around 4 inches wide, maybe a little bit more. He curls his hand around it experimentally, and shivers. The whole shaft is realistically ridged, and Jensen almost drops the damn thing when he realizes it’s definitely fashioned off of The King’s dick.

There’s even a smooth scar running down the left-hand side of the shaft, and Jensen vaguely remembers reading about The King detailing a shaving incident from when he was younger.

It was a good interview, Jensen thinks mildly. Jensen grips the base tightly. It doesn’t flare out into scrotum, like some others do, and Jensen’s pleased about that. He thinks it detracts from the aesthetics. He likes the free swing of balls to ass when he’s getting fucked, anyway.

He’s not. Getting fucked, that is.

There’s complimentary lube in the bottom of the box, some plain-scented thing, and Jensen grabs it on an afterthought. Doesn’t want to waste his own stash on this thing, anyway.

Jensen’s three-fourths of the way to his room when he stops in his tracks. It’s Wednesday. He thinks about his options for a second. He could re-package the thing and wait until the required day.

He glances back at the mess he’s made of his living room, styrofoam flecks blending in with his couch, dark grey carpeting strewn with cardboard.

Jensen braces his hand against the wall.

Better to get it out of the way, then.

Jensen flops down onto his bed with a heavy sigh, untangles the red-wine sheets from his calves.

He’s not gonna lie, it does look nice. It’s not very unlike other dildos he’s used, and he’s used a plethora, but there’s something pleasing about the simplicity of it. Like it’s just gonna do a good job.

He lifts it to his mouth and his tongue snakes out for a taste. He’s way past being embarrassed about anything he does in the bedroom, but the fact that this is The King’s dick makes him flush hotly.

He shrugs his basketball shorts off quickly, suddenly more than ready to get started.

He gets the tip spit-shiny and leans back on the bed, left arm crooked on the elbow so he can watch the proceedings. His legs flop open shamelessly and he runs the crown over the furl of his hole. It’s only slightly damp with his spit now, but his whole lower body flexes with anticipation.

Jensen’s tearing open the packet of lube beside him in a sudden hurry, and he scoops a healthy amount out with two fingers, and some of it falls onto his palm in his haste to slather the Hellhound with it. The black gleams in the dull light, and Jensen screws his legs wider in silent invitation.

He drops down flat on his back and rests the Hellhound just in between his legs. He uses the remaining lube to re-slick his fingers, and shivers with the permission. He’s pressing his middle finger forward before he can second guess himself, and his body is taut like wire. He grunts a little with the intrusion, but it’s nothing his body isn’t intimately used to.

He presses his index in alongside his other finger and sighs openly. He loves opening himself up like this, the thick stretch and burn, the way anyone could come in and see him like this, naked and wide on his bed, humping his own hand.

His dick livens up even further with that thought, and he feels the tacky sweep of pre-come against his abs. He uses a third finger for caution’s sake, and then he allows his right hand to slide free. He can feel the gasp of his hole, and he fumbles a little over the slide of the Hellhound.

He grips just above the base with shaking fingers, and begins the slow descent. He moans at the first breach; he hasn’t tested anything in a few weeks because Collins hadn’t found anything up to par.

This, though.

Jensen squirms against his blankets and mewls as he bottoms out. He can’t breathe around this dick. He makes it a habit to not be a size queen, picks out 8 or 9’s to use in general.

He feels the Hellhound in his soul. He’s pretty sure he re-arranged some organs in his desperation to get this thing inside.

His hips lurch up and his cock’s pointing straight to the ceiling, red-tinged and lightly wet at the tip. He brushes his fingers against his own shaft and groans.

He grips the Hellhound for the push back out, and the slow-drag is exquisite. With that first shove his body lights up, and he feels a tingling warmth spread throughout his hole. It takes him a few more drags to realize that the lube is warming. His right leg twitches involuntarily with pleasure at the idea.

He begins thrusting harder, and tosses his neck back. He knows he’s flushed, his nipples are tingling and normally he’d play with them, but he hasn’t got the heart to move his hand away from this damn dildo.

His hand is sliding too much on the glide back in, and he moves it down lower to grip firmly at the base. He shoves hard at the bottom with his palm, and the Hellhound slots back up inside and Jensen’s mouth falls open on a loud moan.

He could come like this, right now, one stroke and he’d blow.

Fuck.

He thrusts faster now, because he’s close, and two things happen all at once. He must hit something on the base, because the Hellhound comes to life in his ass. It’s not a vibrator, per se, because the crown is the only thing that’s buzzing.

The vibration is laser-focused in that region, and it shoves against his prostate so exquisitely that he starts crying. The lube suddenly fades from the white-hot blaze of feeling to an icy chill that creeps along his limbs with the drastic change in temperature.

The combination of the prostate massage and the frost-bitten glide are the end to Jensen, and even as he’s coming, he knows it. His legs spasm violently and his hand falls away from the Hellhound, where it continues to whir inside him.

When he wakes up thirty minutes later, his come is cold and crusty on his stomach, and the Hellhound is still faintly buzzing in his ass.

It was alright.

-

_Unrealistic proportions lent themselves to unrealistic expectations. Disclaimers should always be warned for, folks._

_Very admirable for a first toy; all things considered, there is room for growth, but this does not undermine the achievements at hand._

Collins throws the paper directly into Jensen’s face, and, to be honest, Jensen thought he’d get worse.

“Jensen Ackles,” Collins says, and it doesn’t even sound like his voice.

“Misha,” Jensen says, in the same bland tone.

“Do you want a job? Do you want a bed to sleep in, cable on your TV?” Collins roars, and it’s so un-Collins-like that Jensen snorts out a laugh.

“Objective review, Mish,” Jensen offers, and his boss whirls around on him, black hair flyaway on his scalp. His cardigan is hanging haphazardly on his body, and Jensen schools his face into repentance.

“Jensen Ross Ackles, you have never, not once, given a review this poor.” Collins says. Jensen shrugs. “There’s a first time for everything,” Jensen says.

“No. No.” Collins says, and Jensen raises his brows. “This is not done. This doesn’t make sense.” Collins says. “Why--why on earth--” Collins stutters, and Jensen almost takes pity on him.

“This client is huge. Jared Padalecki is fucking huge!” Collins almost screams, and Jensen knows he must be worked up to scream a client’s full name.

“The office is gonna kill us.” Collins murmurs, and Jensen feels abruptly bad. “Shit, Mish, I can re-do it, it hasn’t even been released very long--” but Collins waves him off.

“M’headed back to go sort this out.” Collins says, and turns to him brightly, albeit a bit dimmed. “Your ass is usually spot-on,” Collins remarks. “If the ass says it’s a no-go…” Collins says, trailing off as he closes Jensen’s front door behind him.

Jensen’s head thumps back against his couch and he rubs at his temples.

Well, fuck.

-

Danni calls him every name but a child of God and asks if he’s ready to financially support her shopping habits and loud sex when she moves in with him because _they’re out of a job._

Jensen knows he deserves every bit of this, so he allows her to throw his own placemats at his face, gives her a kickass foot rub and buys her a new dress.

She’s slightly mollified when she passes out on his couch that evening, wine-drunk, but Jensen’s still worried.

-

It’s a week after Kingsgate that Jensen’s woken up to loud-ass pounding on his door.

It’s not really angry pounding, more like two firm knocks by a heavy hand. It’s like four in the afternoon, no time for a nap, but he’s had a lot of downtime this week, and Danni’s exhausting.

He’s only in grey sweatpants, but he figures it’s one of his two best friends back to yell/coddle him, and he’s not one to break with routine.

His first thought when he opens the door is that maybe the Hellhound sent him straight to the fires of Hell, and he’s been dead all this time.

There’s absolutely no reason for his fish-gape face as he looks up (and up) to see the broad face of Jared “The King” Padalecki himself on his doorstep.

Then Jared’s smoothly slid his way inside, past Jensen’s comatose body, and Jensen closes the door on autopilot.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jensen yells, and immediately regrets it. He should not be yelling at the King. He should not be riling the King up. He’s been known to fuck people into submission. Jensen’s dick gives a traitorous little jump at the thought.

Hell no, not with him.

But Jared doesn’t look angry at all, in fact, he looks like he could be on his way to the gym, except for the fact that he smells like pine and isn’t sweating at all. He’s in athletic shorts and basketball shoes, and his shirt is a simple black V-neck.

He’s also a fucking giant and he’s dwarfing the chi out of Jensen’s living room.

“I hear unrealistic proportions lend themselves to unrealistic expectations,” The King (Jared, he’s in Jensen’s living room, he ought to call the man by his government name), looks calm and happy, and Jensen notices he’s got a small Nike backpack hooked on his right shoulder.

Jensen face flushes.

“It’s an article, Mr. Padalecki,” Jensen says haughtily, hopes he didn’t butcher the King’s last name. “I hope you don’t make it a habit of coming to private residences to protest things you don’t like reading about yourself.” Jensen says. He’s really proud of that sentence; he sounds like he’s not sweating bullets in front of this man.

Who is handsome as hell, hair carefully tucked behind one ear. Jared grins. “Nah,” he says, a hint of southern twang in his mouth.

“I do make it a habit to correct people that are wrong, though.” Jared says, waves his hand negligently. “And the way I figure it, s’not exactly your fault.” Jared says.

Jensen backs up until his thighs clip his dining room table. “W-what?” Jensen says dumbly.

“See,” Jared says, and he’s practically stalking closer to Jensen. Is the room getting smaller or--god forbid--is the King just getting even bigger?

“You’ve never taken the real thing, right here.” Jared says, and he’s so close to Jensen that he boxes him in, curves his arms around Jensen’s shoulders to brace his palms against the table.

“So, ‘course the toy’s unrealistic.” Jared says. Jared leans his head down, hair brushing against Jensen’s cheek. “But if you wanted the real deal, sweetheart,” Jared purrs, “then you didn’t have to get nasty. Could’ve just asked.” Jared says.

Jensen’s face is flushed pink, and he knows his body, can tell the rest of his body is too. What the fuck is happening, what is this?

Jensen makes to squirm out from around the cage of Jared, but the man’s fucking firm and solid. He doesn’t move. “I--I don’t know--” Jensen tries, but Jared’s shaking his head.

“You do know,” Jared says, and then his big hands snake down and slide underneath Jensen’s sweatpants.

Jensen’s not wearing boxers.

Jared groans, heavily in his throat, and Jensen’s knees actually buckle. “You’re so damn pretty, sweetheart.” Jared says, leans down to nip at Jensen’s neck. “You alright if I call you Jensen?” Jared breathes, soothes his tongue over the slight wound.

Jensen’s head is not his own, because it fucking nods in acceptance. Jared leans back, digs those long fingers into the fleshy meat of Jensen’s ass. Jensen mewls in place and arches forward. Jared’s smile is feral and hungry and so dark that Jensen could go blind in it.

“You alright with this darlin’?” Jared says, and his voice still holds a sex-accent, but Jensen knows he’s really asking.

Jensen wasn’t okay with it--but that was like fifteen minutes before the King walked into his house. Jensen tips his head back in that innocent way that makes men paw at him. “Uh-huh,” Jensen says (because he doesn’t know what words are at this point) and Jared’s shoving his sweatpants down his legs.

“Lift for me, sweetheart,” Jared says, and Jensen kicks himself free of the fabric. Jared’s lifting him then, and he doesn’t so much as grunt as Jensen swings his legs around Jared’s waist.

“Where’s your bed, darlin’?” Jared says, and Jensen whimpers. Since when have endearments done anything for his libido?

“I found it,” Jared says, and that’s definitely a smile in his voice. “Don’t worry.” If Jensen thought he’d have a reprieve once they got to his room, he was definitely wrong. Jared sets him down gently on his own bed and then the man is stripping naked with a finesse that speaks of long years of experience.

And, oh.

Oh, GOD.

“Now,” Jared says, and he’s doing his predator impression again. “I’ve been hard since before I got here,” Jared explains, and Jensen scrambles away from him as Jared descends upon the bed. He’s not a virgin. He’s _not,_ but Jared is some otherworldly creature.

“But--you’re--you’re the King,” Jensen sputters, and there it is, the smoothest thing he’s ever said, right here.

Jared’s face softens infinitesimally, and then Jensen’s locked in the curtain of his arms, again. “Today though,” Jared says, “I’ll be good with you just yellin’ Jared.” Jared’s grin is filthy, and Jensen’s legs part without his consent.

“Jesus, you’re pretty,” Jared says, and this time time it seems like he didn’t mean to say it. Jared runs his hand up the soft of Jensen’s open thigh, and Jensen manfully refrains from making noise. Jensen can see his dick, making a scene.

It’s flushed closer to red than pink, and Jared thumbs the crown. Jensen’s entire body shudders, and he watches in fascination as Jared’s eyes darken.

“Christ, I like that,” Jared says, and his voice has become one smooth drawl. Jared pushes his way in between Jensen’s legs and then his mouth closes over top of Jensen’s dick, no preamble.

Jensen looks down at the broad shoulders in between the bow of his legs, the dark hair bobbing up and down. And then Jared does a weird trick with his tongue, against the tip, and Jensen moans. “F-fuck, Jared,” Jensen whispers, and Jared dislodges far enough to laugh.

“Hold still now,” Jared says, and then he locks Jensen in place, one large palm settled on the jut of each hipbone.

Jared leans down all the way to the base and slurps loudly. Jensen’s neck snaps sharply to the side, and he can hear himself hyperventilating as if from far away.

Jared pulls up and off his dick, and then tugs sharply on Jensen’s balls in the same motion. Jensen’s face twists up in unexpected pleasure-pain, and then Jared’s mouth falls over top of them and he sucks one inside entirely.

Jensen’s eyes are welling up from the hot burn of agony and sweetness, and then Jared is switching to the other testicle.

When Jared comes up for air, Jensen takes another good look at his dick. The dick Jensen’s already inadvertently had inside him. Jensen can almost trace the shaving scar, thin line running the length of the shaft.

Jared’s smirking at him, but Jensen literally wants that dick inside him, yesterday. “You can touch it,” Jared says lowly. “S’proportional, I promise.” Jared caresses the words until they sound even filthier than they should.

Jensen glances up, tries to calm his heaving chest. “Rather have you fuck me with it instead,” Jensen breathes out, and he’s proud of himself, because while he’s not vanilla, he’s never been exactly savvy with dirty talk in the bedroom.

It seems to be enough for Jared, because Jared leans forward and shoves Jensen’s legs so far apart he actually hears the joints pop.

Jared hovers above him for a second before reaching over to Jensen’s nightstand and ripping the entire drawer out of its hinges. Jensen surges up in anger, but then Jared’s coming back with Jensen’s favorite bottle of lube in his hand.

“Did you use mine,” Jared says quietly, and Jensen gets the abrupt feeling that this man is dangerous. “Uh-huh,” Jensen says.

“Good,” Jared replies, and then presses inside Jensen’s hole, two fingers slick. “I choose it for you special,” Jared grunts, and then Jared pulls his fingers apart and down at the same time, brushing over that white-hot place inside.

Jensen mewls and Jared blankets his big body across Jensen’s supine one.

“Ch-christ, Jared, slow--slow down,” Jensen huffs, but Jared just lifts his head up far enough to grin.

“That what you want?” Jared asks, corkscrews his fingers sharply and then just as quickly forms a makeshift cock-ring around the base of Jensen’s dick with his other hand. Jensen’s orgasm pauses in its tracks, and Jensen looks up at Jared in confusion, tears in his eyes.

“M’paying attention to you,” Jared offers by way of explanation, and then Jared’s removing the three fingers he quickly worked himself up to. Jared’s looming, got one hand wrapped around his monster of a dick, and it’s shiny with lube.

“Might be a bit bigger than the Hellhound,” Jared says, and he sounds mildly apologetic. “We didn’t want it to seem--unrealistic,” Jared says, and Jensen realizes the sound he mistook for remorse was actually regret.

Jared reaches down and then Jensen’s turning in the air, flat on his stomach. His limbs are dead inside and he can feel the phantom ache in his ass. Christ, he’s about to get fucked _within an inch of his life_ by the King, and that’s not something he ever thought he would say.

Jensen’s hips squirm in anticipation, and then Jared jerks his ass up to the cool air of the room. “Jus’ like that,” Jared slurs, and then he hooks one hand around Jensen’s hip and lunges forward.

It feels familiar, Jensen thinks, and that’s the last coherent thought that passes through his head.

Jensen gasps his way through it, because Jared doesn’t stop or slow, pushes inside Jensen’s hole at the same slow, steady pace he set at the start. Jensen’s sweating and shaking by the time Jared’s balls press against his own, and he can hear the low-grade moan from his own mouth.

“Can you feel me,” Jared says, and his voice sounds tighter than it was before. Jensen immediately presses a hand to his abdomen and groans aloud. He can just feel the ridge of Jared’s dick inside him, and he rocks back a bit, ignores the searing burn that erupts at the movement.

Jared grabs onto his hips again.

“Ready?” Jared asks, and then he’s backing out and shoving back in without waiting for an answer. Jared takes one hand and cups the back of Jensen’s head, pushing him face-first down into his pillow. Jensen’s screams are muffled as Jared really starts giving it to him then, swivels his hips counter-clockwise.

Jared pulls out just to catch the crown of his dick on Jensen’s swollen rim. Jensen can feel the pressure keeping him open and he cries out.

“Fuck, please, please come back,” Jensen babbles, and he barely hears Jared’s fond laugh.

He can feel the sharp sting of Jared’s nails against his flesh, and Jensen tries to give a little back, twists his own hips. Jared growls and pushes down on Jensen’s neck.

“Nah, sweetheart, this one’s mine.” Jared says, and Jensen’s body sags with the command.

Jared pauses in his frantic movement for just a second, and then Jensen feels his finger come up to encircle Jensen’s rim, trace the place where they’re connected. Jensen shudders at the slight touch.

Jensen feels the cool of lube, and then Jared’s index hooks in between rim and his own dick. Jensen can barely speak as Jared wedges his finger in alongside his cock and continues to thrust.

“J-Jared,” Jensen begins, but Jared just laughs. “S’about to get fun, baby,” Jared replies, and then Jensen feels something cooler, and it’s a familiar feeling, but he can’t quite place it--

It’s not until Jared is pulling, oh so gentle at the skin of his rim, splitting him open even further, that he realizes that he knows what it is.

“Y-you can’t--it won’t fit,” Jensen gasps, because where the fuck did Jared get the Hellhound from? Jensen has it hidden in the bottom of his closet--and then Jensen recalls the backpack Jared was carrying.

“Y-you--you planned this,” Jensen huffs out, because Jared’s dick is scraping his prostate raw, and he needs to come so bad. He can feel his dick waving on empty air, and it hurts.

“Sure did,” Jared admits shamelessly. “Want you to take all’a me, then tell me if it made you see God,” Jared says, and there’s no hint of teasing left as the crown of the Hellhound slides in alongside Jared.

Jensen’s gonna die. He’s gonna split open on Jared’s dick and die here, in his bed.

Jensen can feel himself crying, but the stretch hurts so right, and he can barely breathe through this. “You’re alright, darlin,’” Jared’s saying, and he feels another three or so inches press in.

Jensen screams.

“You wanna stop,” Jared says, and everything pauses as Jared waits for his answer.

“Wanna,” Jensen says. “Want you to break me.” Jensen’s voice is low, but that seems to be the exact answer Jared was looking for, because he presses the last few inches within and Jensen’s only held up by the stabilizing hand on his waist.

“Oh, fuck,” Jared says, and he sounds honestly enthralled, like he’s never seen anything like this before. “Oh Jesus, Christ, fuck you’re gorgeous like this, all split open on my dick like this, can’t even get away--” and Jared’s babbling, but Jensen’s tight and warm with the loss of Jared’s control.

Jared fucks him with both, slow and sure, and when Jared comes, the ride between both becomes so smooth that Jensen ruts into the sheets beneath him.

Jared’s still holding the Hellhound snug in his ass, and when Jensen tries to sneak a hand in between the sheets to jerk himself off, Jared hums his dissent.

“Use your sheets, baby, just the sheets. Lemme see it,” and Jared sounds kind of wrecked, so broken and needy that Jensen squirms obligingly and humps his way to the most spectacular orgasm of his life.

-

When Jensen wakes up (again), his ass still feels comfortably full, and he realizes the Hellhound is still tightly sheathed within. He sits up, or tries to, but Jared’s hand on his pauses the action.

Jensen blinks up at the man blearily, realizes he’s clean, but still naked, tucked in his sheets and plugged tight with the King’s surrogate dick.

Jared’s got his basketball shorts on, and there’s water gleaming on the diamond-cut of his abs.

“You’re back,” he says, and it’s so soft that Jensen turns away.

“Thought you’d be gone,” Jensen mutters, and when he chances a look at Jared, the man looks a little disturbed.

Then his face crinkles into a heavily dimpled smile, something Jensen’s never seen on him before.

“Sweetheart. You thought you weren’t mine now?” Jared says, and there’s something heady in the way he says mine, the playfulness underscored by the currently latent intent in his eyes.

Jensen knows he looks slack-jawed, so, of course, he says the first thing that pops into his head.

“My ex and I broke up over you!” Jensen says. To his credit, Jared doesn’t even look phased, just leans down to brush his lips over Jensen’s. He cups his hand around Jensen’s pink cheek and smiles again.

“Well then,” Jared drawls, “that’ll make a great story for our first date.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Jensen's an idiot.
> 
> Also, thank you guys so much for liking this! I have a soft spot for this verse, so hopefully you're interested in reading the continuation!

Jared works. A lot.

This is the first thing that Jensen notices.

Secondly, Jensen does not like that. At all.

He can feel the beginnings of a problem. He’s not sure how to bring it up without becoming a needy, whining mess, and he remembers all too well how Ty felt about that.

He can’t help it that he gets emotionally attached. He also isn’t about to waste his time here, and The King is a big investment.

Jensen’s pretty sure the man has a cult following. Notwithstanding the websites devoted solely to his dick.

So, when Jared comes to pick him up tonight for their date, he’s just gonna lay it all out.

Probably.

-

It’s not fair. Jared _knows_ that this is his weakness; getting eaten out to the point of debilitation. But that hasn’t stopped Jared from pressing the soft of Jensen's thighs up to his neck and bending down, swath of dark hair cradled in the cage of Jensen’s legs.

Jared’s slurping, and they’re loud, obscene sounds, and Jensen slides his hands under his knees, cups them and drags them up even further, desperate for the feeling.

“I--I just wanted to talk--” Jensen tries, and he’s inordinately pleased at his ability to construct any kind of sentence in lieu of the assault he’s under.

Jared hums against his ass, dips the tip of his thumb in the hole and skims his nail against Jensen’s rim.

“So talk,” Jared says, pulls back far enough to look Jensen in the eye. Jensen shivers with the gaze, unaccustomed to feeling like prey, the hot drag of Jared’s gaze across his skin.

“F-fucking asshole,” Jensen grits out, and Jared full out laughs, lean body bending in on itself. Jensen’s heart warms against his will, because he loves that sound.

Loves the way Jared expresses mirth in anything he truly enjoys, and he loves how Jared’s sucking on the pink of his hole like he’ll collapse without it.

“Hold still,” Jared murmurs, hooks his index in the furl and pushes slowly up to the second knuckle, twisting all the while.

“Jesus--” Jared stutters, and Jensen feels a tightening in his chest. He doesn’t have the time to properly analyze the feeling before his left leg is twitching, his customary tell. Jared’s remained completely dressed, hair slick from the rain.

He’s wearing a black t-shirt, and the fabric is sticking slightly to Jensen’s thighs with perspiration. “Come on, baby,” Jared whispers, and he’s focused on the spit-slick glide of his finger in Jensen’s ass, the way it clings and barely offers a give.

Jensen’s been fingerfucked with more fingers than this, harder and longer, but his hand is still trembling when he reaches down to grip his dick, follows the dry-hot slide against his palm.

Jared’s not even looking up at him, he’s still captivated by the proceedings below, and Jensen’s hand snags against the crown.

Jared twirls his finger suddenly, and then curves it, makeshift hook in the cavern of his hole. Jensen’s hips spasm and jerk up once, in an extended release. He can feel the arch of his back, and he’s distantly aware of the loss of Jared’s finger.

There’s a cool rush of air as Jared stands, and then he can hear the slickness of Jared’s dick passing through his large hand. Jensen’s muted, his entire body rebelling against the idea of movement, but he drops back to earth gracelessly, and looks up at Jared.

Jensen’s toes curl when he catches sight of the darkness in Jared’s face, could be mistaken for malevolence if Jensen didn’t know any better.

He knows what he looks like, spread-eagle on his bed, cooling come splattered across his chest in a wide spray. Jensen knocks his legs open further and meets Jared’s gaze unwaveringly.

Jared grunts--it’s a much lower sound than he makes for his movies--and then leans forward, hovering over top of Jensen, a shroud of intent.

Jensen’s perfectly still, minus the still-heavy breathing from his own orgasm, and when Jared comes, it splashes over the choke of his fist down onto the plain of Jensen’s abs.

-

It’s not until they’re at dinner, tucked into the corner of Adelaide’s, low lamplight and a platter of antipasto for Jared to inhale, that Jensen remembers.

Jensen’s picking at his half-heartedly when Jared notices, pinch of peperoncini in his too-big hand. Jared’s dressed up, collared shirt crisp and white against the column of his dark throat, and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.

The neck is slightly undone, and if Jensen weren’t terrified of what he needed to tell Jared, he thinks he would appreciate it more.

Jensen’s not as nicely attired--but, then again, he doesn’t make nearly as good of money as Jared does. And isn’t that another thing?

“Jen?” Jared says slowly, and Jensen hates that nickname--his friends have called him Jay since they knew what words were for, but Jared doesn’t say it like a slight.

He doesn’t usually slip up and use it to begin with, and that's how Jensen knows he’s troubled.

“Jensen?” Jared tries again, and he’s pushing the porcelain away, wiping the tips of his fingers on the napkin in front of him.

“Ah--what?” Jensen says, stumbling back to Earth with a jerk. “You okay?” Jared says, and there’s a pleasant hum of concern in his voice.

“M’fine,” Jensen dissembles, tugging on a strip of ham. “Actually,” Jensen says, abruptly deciding to bite the bullet, “not really.”

Jared shoves the entire meal to the side with a dedication Jensen’s only seen reserved for his ass, and his brow is furrowed. “What’s wrong?” Jared’s saying, and Jensen’s eyes are wide.

“Did someone do something?” Jared’s working himself up--Jensen can see the signs, and he waves his hands in the air; it’s nothing like that.

“No--no, I’m good. No one did anything to me,” Jensen tries again, but Jared’s still holding himself brittle in his seat, one hand clasped around the mahogany of his armrest.

“Then why do you look like that?” Jared says, and Jensen’s hands fly up to cradle his own face. “This is crazy,” Jensen says, and it’s not what he meant to say next at all.

“What’s crazy?” Jared says, and while he still sounds confused, there’s a flatline in his voice that Jensen winces away from.

“Whatever this is, Jared,” Jensen says, and all of a sudden he’s desperate to make Jared understand. “You’re always working--and we haven’t even _talked_ about shit--” Jensen almost chokes on his words when he catches sight of the murderous look on Jared’s face, but he pulls himself together at the last instant.

“I know we’re good together--in bed,” Jensen says mirthlessly, “but when’s the last time we had a real conversation?”

Jared’s blinking at him, and a myriad of emotions flit across his features before the end result settles on blankness.

“I don’t have to work as much, Jensen,” Jared says, and his voice is crooked.

“It’s not about that!” Jensen all but yells, and then glances around; this is a fairly nice restaurant, and Jensen’s making an entirely unnecessary scene.

Jensen grips the edge of the tablecloth in his hands and stares down at his plating. It’s made so nicely; there are sprigs of mint embroidering the meat, and Jensen wants to cry.

Jared’s so still Jensen’s not even sure that he’s breathing.

“Alright,” Jared says calmly, and then he waves a hand over the spread before them. “D’you want to finish this or box it up?”

Jensen’s fingernails are digging into warm palms, and he releases the fabric with some difficulty.

“What do you want to do?” Jensen asks, stupidly. Jared’s paying, after all. Jared tilts his head to the side, appraising Jensen with a look he’s not at all comfortable receiving.

“S’up to you, man,” Jared says, and Jensen just nods.

-

 

Life is hard in the first few days A.J.

Danni teases him about having divided his life up into Before and After--but honestly, what does she expect of him?

After Jared is considerably more shitty than Before Jared.

It’s his own fault, he knows this. But honestly, Jared was about a month or so away from realizing that just because Jensen likes to stuff things up his ass doesn’t actually correlate to him being a semi-interesting person.

He’s stupid enough to think that Jared might’ve overlooked that.

Collins is texting him--his new go-to since his wife maintains that maybe people on the subway don’t want to hear him detailing what kind of anal plug Jensen should salivate over this time, and he almost chokes on his tongue when he reads the latest missive.

_Sir’s got a line of plugs he wants you to try. You, specifically._

There’s a crude emoji following the message, and Jensen’s turning his iPhone sideways in an attempt to decipher the damn thing.

Jensen hasn’t reviewed anything that Sir’s made in a few years now; the industry veteran rarely gets his hands dirty with this type of thing.

The only special exception that Sir makes, for anything, is that Jensen is the only one to review his merchandise.

Now that he’s feeling like Satan shat on his nuts, this is an enticing deal. Sir knows that he’s good at his job; he’ll give a competent and noteworthy review.

_When can you send ‘em over?_

-

Danni’s sitting on his couch when the box arrives, and Jensen drops it unceremoniously on the carpet before his front door.

He’s halfway to the kitchen for another beer when Danni squeals behind him.

“Why the fuck do you always get the good shit?” Danni says, and there’s petulance and fondness intermingled in her voice. Jensen opens his Fat Tire using the edge of his countertop and shrugs.

“They like my ass,” Jensen offers, ducking when Danni flings a well-aimed pillow in his direction.

“First The King, now Sir?” Danni collapses against the remaining pillows with a theatrical sigh. “And you already threw away perfectly good dick--”

Jensen growls in warning, and, as usual, Danni bulldozes past the cautionary tape. “Shut up,” she says, and there’s enough steel in her voice to warrant him looking askance at her.

“You’re an idiot, Jay,” Danni says, and she propels her long body into a sitting position, tucks slim legs underneath her ass, Indian-style.

“He liked you. He liked you a fucking lot, took you out to dinner--” Jensen can feel the chill of the bottle seep through his hand, and it’s grounding.

“He always tried to talk to your dumbass, too.” Danni’s staring hard at him when Jensen doesn’t answer her, and then she glances away.

“I should leave you here alone,” Danni says, muttering to herself, but it still cuts, just a little. She should, honestly.

“No one’s keeping you here,” Jensen says, in a way that’s meant to sound offhanded, but, from the look on Danni’s face, fails spectacularly.

“Do you want to watch Transformers,” she says softly, and Jensen doesn’t quite catch the whimper he emits in time.

Danni’s face crumbles to mirror his own; she’s always been better at reading him than he’s ever measured up to.

“Three,” Jensen says, and it comes out pitifully, roiling around in his stomach, messy and dark.

Danni’s own voice is wet when she chuckles, scoots to the other side of the couch so Jensen has room. “C’mon,” she commands, and she fumbles around in the cushions for the remote.

She tactfully refrains from saying anything when she presses play and the movie automatically starts itself.

 

-

Danni’s preening over him in the mirror; there’s really no better way to describe it. She’s tugging on his hair with her lower lip sucked into her mouth, and she slaps his hand away every time he attempts to get close to his own head.

“Danneel.” Jensen says, and she raises her eyebrows minutely; she's committed to not messing up her makeup.

“Jensen.” She replies, and Jensen knows he's fighting a losing battle.

“I look fine. This is fine.” Jensen waves a general hand at himself.

“He's gonna be there,” Danni repeats stubbornly, and Jensen allows his hand to fall uselessly to his side.

“And so is everyone else who made a name for themselves--Danni stop pulling, for fuck’s sake!” Jensen yells, jerking away from her razor-edged nails.

“Jay, if you move one more time, I'll make you go alone.” Her voice is serious, and Jensen stills instantly. He cannot go to this party by himself. It’s the annual gathering of the biggest names in the business, and Jensen and Danni are only allotted tickets by nature of their work and inherent connections.

If Collins weren't pushing him to “network,” then he would be curled up in his bed, Shia Labeouf cluttering up his television screen. As it is, Danni’s outfitted him in head to toe Calvin Klein, and he feels like he's been taxidermied.

“Listen,” Danni begins, and it's softer than before. “You can still fix this.” Jensen turns to glare up at her and catches the eyeliner pencil in her hand.

“Jesus, Danni, we aren't doing that! M’not telling you again!” Jensen has a fear of strange objects near his eyes, and Danni brandishing the thing around like a weapon isn't helping her cause any.

“And there's nothing to fix,” Jensen says, on an afterthought.

-

He looks decadent.

Of course he does.

Jensen spares a tremulous moment to consider that maybe Jared dressed this well for him, but the thought’s banished as soon as it makes its presence known.

Jared’s been going to these things for years; he doesn’t need to bother impressing anyone.

Jared’s not looking in his direction when he and Danni walk in, and Jensen thinks that’s just as well, because there’s no way he’d be able to hold up under that stare.

The weight of Jared’s gaze was always on this side of too heavy, onerous in its gravity. Jensen wasn’t built for that.

Danni gets catcalled right off the bat, but it’s tasteful--or as tasteful as one can make that sort of thing. Jensen snorts on instinct when she flips nameless dude off, and then she’s blushing.

“Shit,” she grimaces, tilting her head up to meet Jensen’s chin. “I can’t do that here, can I?” Jensen’s mouth is tight, staving off a smile, and he looks down at her appreciatively.

Her dress is ankle-length and black, clinging to her hips softly. The neckline is low and sweeping, but all Jensen can see is the gentle curvature of breast, and he thinks that’s why she bought it in the first place.

“You probably shouldn’t,” Jensen concedes, but then squeezes her hand affectionately. “But _I_ think it’s funny as hell.” Danni only looks mildly surprised at his response, and Jensen’s suddenly overwhelmed by a surge of love for her.

“M’supposed to go and talk to Murray,” Danni says, and her nose curls up with the words. Jensen feels moderately alarmed. “You mean the one that does the thing? With the horses?” Jensen’s about this close to grabbing Danni by the waist and hauling ass, but Danni’s nodding reflexively.

“Horse wrangler. Whatever.” Danni tosses her hair over her shoulder and dances out of Jensen’s too-slow grip.

Jensen’s considering the kind, yet obvious leer Horsey is giving Danni, when he feels the sudden awareness of eyes on his back.

He gets the distinct feeling that it’s been going on for a while, and the idea is jarring. Jensen’s turning before he can think better of it, but it’s not Jared staring him down with his world-weary glare.

Jensen’s cheeks are dull pink, and he can see a waiter in the background, silver platter of champagne flutes precarious in his palm.

Jensen exercises his fantastic brain to mouth filter and smiles weakly. “Hi, Sir,” he says, and then makes a mental note to saw his tongue out by the root.

Jensen’s gaze flickers away unintentionally from the man before him, to where he can see Jared stretched out against the exposed brick of the far wall.

There’s a woman beside him, slight and brown-haired, and her gaze is uncomfortably clear on his own, but Jensen’s not paying much attention to her. He’s more focused on the empty of Jared’s face, the way the champagne flute looks too fragile for the brawn of his hand.

Jensen’s gaze slides back to the present when he feels a touch on his arm, and he looks up. Sir’s smiling, warm and thick, and his hand is heavy on Jensen’s wrist.

“You bein’ polite boy, or you makin’ fun?” Sir says, and Jensen’s shaking his head before Sir gets the words out. “No. Neither.” Jensen looks down to the firm trap of his wrist. “I don’t think before I speak--” Jensen grins then, ashamed of the steady thrum of his pulse.

“But that’s your name. Isn’t it? Sir?” Jensen makes to tug his wrist free, but Sir doesn’t loosen in the slightest, only flexes his fingers around the jut of bone.

Sir’s mouth twists faintly and he pulls Jensen closer. It’s not an aggressive movement, but there’s ownership in it, and Jensen feels his face flush. Danni’s better at saying no than he is; he gets confused and his mouth runs away from him.

“You practicing callin’ me that?” Sir says, and Jensen rolls his eyes. “That’s the only time you’re gonna hear it, so whatever floats your boat.” Jensen says, and pauses. “Sir,” he tacks on at the end, because he can see how Sir’s eyes tighten, the way his fingernails dig into Jensen’s flesh.

Jensen winces against his will and wonders how good an idea it was to rile him up, the one man in the room with possibly more clout than Jared himself.

“Gonna let me go anytime soon?” Jensen says, and the words come out brittle, incapable in his mouth.

Sir’s face is impassive, and Jensen doesn’t have the chance to ask again, because Jared’s answering for him.

“Yeah, he is.” Jared says, somewhere by Jensen’s shoulder, and Jensen winces, because that doesn’t sound anything like Jared. There’s no twang in his words, no gentle flavor of teasing.

Jensen turns to face Jared on instinct, like the tug of the sun, but Sir’s grip doesn’t waver enough to let him go far.

When Jared speaks again, his voice is almost conversational, sounds like the bastard of the Jared Jensen knows.

“This ain’t one of your movies.” Jared says, and his voice is pleasant, smoothly charming the way Jensen has often seen him. “Let him go or I'll shove your dick up your own ass.”

Jared leans closer, in between where Jensen and Sir are conjoined. “And if anyone’s been practicing anything, Jeff, it’s been me.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“You’ll shove his own dick up his ass?”

Jensen wants to sound more angry, he does, but honestly, he’s caught between glaring up at Jared and snorting the expensive champagne onto his slacks.

Jared grabs the same wrist Jeff just laid claim to and drags Jensen into his chest. Jensen’s laughter dies abruptly in his throat, and he feels a telltale surge of warmth in his abdomen.

“Jesus Christ,” Jared says, and there’s a faux smile on his boy-handsome face, but his voice is barely above a rumble; he’s seething.

“Don’t you think this,” Jensen says, motioning to where Jared’s got him locked in, “is a little hypocritical Jare?” Jensen says, and then they’re turning, Jared silent before him. Jared releases his wrist only to manhandle him around so that Jensen’s back is dwarfed by Jared’s chest.

Jensen stumbles ahead of Jared, winged-tipped shoes clipping against the wood. Jared steers him past the open bar, past Danni and Horsey, who seem to be deeply engaged in conversation.

Jensen makes it into the hallway first and glances up at the candles lining the ceiling. They’re wrapped in intricate silver candelabra and they’re flickering with intermittent wind. Jensen doesn’t chance a look at Jared until Jared pushes his chin up with his index and thumb.

“What’re you doing here?” Jared says, and admittedly, that’s not what Jensen was expecting at all. Jensen keeps his head motionless, and narrows his eyes. “What am I doing here?” Jensen repeats, and his voice is rising quickly toward shrill. Jared’s fingers tighten imperceptibly on his skin.

“Want me to say it again?” Jared says, and his voice is flat, expressionless. Jensen fists are punch-tight by his sides, but he’s still loathe to move from Jared’s grip.

“Please,” Jensen says, and his voice is scathing; he can’t play at empty the way Jared can. Jared’s moving then, using his body like a battery ram as he pushes Jensen out of the center of the corridor. Jensen’s back collides with the tapestried wall and then Jared’s breathing all his air, palms flat by either side of Jensen’s head.

“What’re you doing here, you don’t want anything to do with this kind of shit.” Jared says the words matter-of-factly, but Jensen can’t hear much over the rush of his own blood. Jared’s closer than he’s been in weeks, thighs pressed heavily against Jensen’s own.

“I never said that,” Jensen counters, and it’s not exactly his best argument; he’s running on no sleep and the heady proximity of Jared.

“You came here to talk to him, then?” Jared says, and there’s a fissure of anger in his voice that seeps through. “Talk to who?” Jensen says, cause he’s confused. Jared’s livid, he gets that now, but Jensen can’t fathom why.

Jared bends down further so that his hair tickles Jensen’s cheek. “Sir,” Jared sneers, and it’s so melodramatic that Jensen’s laughing nervously as soon as Jared says it. “Why’s everything a goddamn joke to you?!” Jared yells, and Jensen’s mouth dries up.

Jared curls his hand around the nape of Jensen’s neck, and it’s hot-warm, like propriety. Jared pulls his head down and back, tipping the line of Jensen’s throat up to Jared’s eyes. “I hate this.” Jared says, and Jensen squirms closer, slots his body up against the firmness of Jared’s.

“What?” Jensen says, and then Jared’s mouth descends on his neck, nips his teeth in the dip of Jensen’s throat. Jensen mewls and arches closer; his hands fly up and catch on the clean fabric of Jared’s lapel.

Jared hums into his skin, and it’s a borderline growl. “Jared--” Jensen breathes, and he hates how Jared’s touch steals his air, carves its way up underneath his skin like disease.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jared says, and then he’s grinding his hips forward, sinking his teeth into Jensen’s skin with a vengeance. Jared’s hand is still firm on the nape of Jensen’s neck, and Jensen’s body lurches forward without his command.

He’s pinned here, beneath Jared and the wall and his own will, and he can’t even think to move.

Jared raises up gently to gnaw at the other side of Jensen’s neck. Jensen moans at the spit-cool air on flushed skin, and Jared chuckles, self-satisfied.

“This is how I want it,” Jared murmurs, and then he moves his hand from Jensen’s neck, slides the palm down the river of Jensen’s spine. He curves his hand over the swell of Jensen’s ass and digs in. It’s too rough; Jensen can feel his flesh give under Jared’s blunt nails.

“I want you to give me this,” Jared says, and the warmth of his words curl around Jensen’s ear. Jensen pushes back into Jared’s hand, grinds his ass into the palm. “Why don’t you just take it,” Jensen says, and his ass tightens as Jared worms his hand down the cinched waist of Jensen’s slacks.

Jared’s underneath white Calvins, firm on the spread of Jensen’s ass. Jared wiggles one dry finger in between the crack, moves his free hand to the outside of Jensen’s slacks and pries his left cheek away from his right.

Jared finds his hole unerringly--like he knows it by touch--and he presses in up to the first knuckle. Jensen keens against Jared’s ear, overly loud sound in the dead air.

“Fuck my finger,” Jared hisses, and it’s desperate and demanding. Jensen’s knees buckle a little bit, but Jared’s right there--slaps his ass punishingly, the sound muffled by the fabric of Jensen’s pants.

“C’mon,” Jared says, and he drags his index out, thick burn in Jensen’s unprepped hole. “I wanna--I wanna,” Jensen says, babbling, because he can’t think past this thing between them.

“That’s right,” Jared says, and it’s filthy, the way Jensen’s used to. This Jared is so damn sure of what he wants, bends Jensen backwards if it suits his fancy.

“Gonna come, baby?” Jared says, and Jensen’s whimpering at the endearment; he doesn’t think Jared’s made the connection between pet names and Jensen’s instant spike in libido. “P-please, Jare, why’re you doing this--” Jensen all but slurs, and then Jared’s hot presence disappears.

Jensen’s hole twitches around nothing, and Jensen’s neck is aching, covered in bruises of varying sizes. He knows Jared bit him the hell up; there’s nothing he likes more than seeing Jensen naked and brutalized, but Jared’s not even looking at him now.

Jared adjusts his tie with one hand, tucking his hair carefully behind his right ear. “M’sorry I dragged you out here.” Jared’s saying, and Jensen’s just standing there, blinking.

Jared turns away from him, back to the bright lights of the party he’s probably blatantly missing from. “Stay away from Jeff, Jensen.” Jared says, and his voice is dead.

-

“So like, he’s fucking fingering me, Danni, I’m talking, one hand down my pants--fingering--” Danni fumbles her way down onto his carpet, criss-cross applesauce, and cradles her chin in her hands.

“Wait. How many fingers?” Danni asks.

Jensen’s pacing the length of his small living room and he pauses, arms still in the air. “What? One finger,” Jensen answers, on instinct.

Danni’s grinning so wide that she has to press thin fingers to her cheeks to contain her glee. “He got you that worked up with one finger?” Danni squeals and Jensen groans when he realizes how desperate he sounds.

“It’s a big finger, Dan,” Jensen says, rubbing the back of his neck. Danni waves her hand at him impassively, and rocks up on her haunches.

“I bet he was all--’Jensen, gimme your sweet little hole’--” Danni says, affecting what she probably thinks is a deep, gravelly voice. “And you were like, ‘Jared--take me!’” Danni says, her voice even higher and breathier than her real one.

Jensen raises his eyebrows. “Your level of interest in my ass is honestly frightening.” Danni snorts, she thinks she’s way funnier than she really is, and then flops down onto his couch.

“Please, keep going,” Danni says, and Jensen continues in his pacing.

“So, he does all that--and you’ve seen my neck Danni, he fucking killed it--” Jensen says, pressing light fingers to his collarbone, and then he grimaces.

“Then he backs off. I don’t even know what happened.” Jensen says. “One second, I think he’s gonna fuck me through the floor, and the next, he’s leaving, and telling me not to have anything to do with Sir.”

Danni’s face has darkened considerably throughout his tale, and now she’s standing, towering, if that’s at all possible.

Her red hair is tied up in a loose bun on the top of her head, and the way she’s wildly gesticulating has it shaking precariously.

“Fuck that.” Danni says, and Jensen’s kind of shocked she took his side. “Hand to God, fuck him.” Jensen’s good with it, kind of hype that Danni’s so incensed on his behalf--but he also doesn’t know if Jared deserves all her vitriol.

“He wasn’t an ass about it, Dan,” Jensen says, but she’s already brushing past him to the kitchen, and Jensen can hear the familiar clink of shot glasses. He listens to her hip-check the drawer closed, then she’s coming back, velociraptor grin on her face.

She’s holding his Lion King themed glasses in one hand, an unopened bottle of Belvedere in the other.

Jensen thinks it’s sacrilegious to drink burning liquor out of childhood memories, but that’s kind of why Danni bought him glassware in the form of his favorite movie in the first place.

She takes the Hakuna Matata themed glass and tosses the Be Prepared one at him. She knows it’s his favorite, and he feels a little bit like he’s drinking with Scar.

She’s pouring the shot with finesse, years of practice. She makes him knock three back in succession before she’ll continue talking. “Basically,” she says, “he doesn’t get to just tell you who to hang out with.”

Jensen nods stupidly; he hasn’t eaten yet today and his head feels warm. It’s three in the afternoon and he’s pretty sure Danni’s gonna kill him.

“I mean, he can say anything he wants, don’t mean I have to do it.” Jensen says firmly, and then he’s pouring them a fourth shot each. Danni’s nodding as he speaks.

Danni plys him with two more shots and Jensen can see the contents of the bottle sloshing around, tumbling over the webbing of her fingers.

“It’s fucking stupid. He doesn’t get to jerk you around.” Danni says, and Jensen slides down onto his floor, Be Prepared sticky in his hands. “Right. Right.” Jensen says, and his throat feels like it’s closing up.

-

Jensen can’t find his phone.

Danni did something with it before she left--she would’ve stayed over, but her current boyfriend came to pick her up when she called him screaming about mankind and their inherent misogyny--and now Jensen’s flipping over all the damn couch cushions.

He finds his Iphone underneath his armchair, covered in a light sheen of dust.

He thanks God for fingerprint ID when he fumbles three times in an attempt to enter in his passcode manually.

A selfie of he and Danni lights up his background immediately, and Jensen wastes like, five minutes scrolling through the new photo album.

He’s wondering why he and Danni are wearing matching Armani underwear and nothing else--when his phone starts vibrating.

Jensen almost drops the thing, but overcompensates by squeezing it too tightly in his palm. “The King of Fuckbaggery” is showing as the Caller ID, and Jensen drags the icon over to answer before he thinks better of it.

“Jensen Ross at your service,” Jensen says smartly, and there’s a quick inhalation on the other end.

“Jen?” Jensen hears, and his nose curls up. “M’not Jen. What do you want?” Jensen says.

“You called me earlier,” the voice says, and Jensen realizes that it’s Jared on the other end. “Oh, it’s you. Fuck you,” Jensen says calmly, and he’s surprised to hear a quiet chuckle on the other end.

“Sweetheart, you drunk?” Jared says, and Jensen rolls over onto his back beside the couch. “M’not anything. Leave me alone.” Jensen says.

“Actually,” Jensen says, taking a deep breath, “You don’t get to do that.” Jensen continues. Jared laughs again, and then, “do what, Jensen?”

“Don’ get to touch me like that, fucking, fucking finger me,” Jensen says. “Cause you know I like it, wanna fuck your hand like that, get naked for your dick--” Jensen says, and then he can hear Jared stuttering on the other end.

“Jensen. Jensen, baby, m’gonna need you to stop talking.” Jared says, voice thin and desperate-sounding.

“An’ then you left me like that, you--you asshole,” Jensen yells, and he knows he’s getting loud, but he can’t help it. “Didn’t want my ass--what’s wrong with my ass, Jare??!”

Jared’s laugh sounds high and tight when he answers. “Nothing, Jen. Damn good ass, baby.” Jared replies.

“Fuck you,” Jensen says, and he can feel the pinch worming its way up to his heart, ugly-burn tears. “I’ma go fuck whoever I fucking want to. S’my life.” Jensen says, and then he’s sitting up, blood-thick headrush at the motion.

“Listen to me.” Jared says, and his voice is still off, but it’s taut, stern in the way that makes Jensen’s dick stand at attention. “Stay home, I’m coming over.” Jared says, and Jensen’s body wavers in place.

“No.” Jensen says petulantly, and Jared’s expected laugh doesn’t come. “Jensen Ackles, I swear to God, you leave your apartment, I will hunt you down.” Jared says. Jensen’s opening his mouth to say something witty, he’s sure, but Jared cuts him to the quick.

“I’ll beat your ass, Jensen, and I promise it won’t be something you like, sweetheart.” Jared says, and his voice is infuriatingly complacent.

-

“It’s clear from your vacant expressions--that the lights are not all on upstairs--” Jensen’s singing, and he’s counting the beams in his ceiling when it registers that there’s knocking at his door.

“Jensen, I can hear you singing the Lion King.” Jared’s voice calls out.

What’s Jared doing here?

Jensen stands up on wobbly legs, and pats his naked chest. He gave his shirt to Danni when she left; they’d been dressed in matching boxers for the latter half of the drinking, and Danni couldn’t go out in just her bra --no matter what boyfriend number three thought.

Jensen looks down at the black of his underwear and smiles. He’s dressed. Enough. Also, Jared’s knocks are gonna start disturbing people if he doesn’t let him in soon.

Jensen unlatches his door in three places, and Jared’s pushing forward into the room like he owns the place, the way he always does when he’s here. When he was here.

“You alone?” Jared says, looks past him at the relative emptiness of the room. “Dan was here,” Jensen offers, and he tilts his head up to look into Jared’s eyes.

“Jesus fuck--who the hell is Dan?” Jared’s saying, and Jared’s eyes are flashing, heady with malice. Jared grips him tightly by his upper arms, thick locale of strength, and Jensen whimpers with the pain. Jared releases him just as quickly, and Jensen’s suddenly pouting.

He likes that. Jared should grab him like that more often. Jensen finally makes the warped connection to the shorthand of Danni’s name and Jared’s wrath, and he has a nasty idea.

“Who, Dan?” Jensen says carefully, and Jared’s still composed, but his eyes are ice.

“He the one who got you so drunk?” Jared says, and his hand cups Jensen’s chin carefully, tilts his head up so he can glance at Jensen’s pupils.

“You’re fucking wasted,” Jared says, and Jensen preens at the propriety in his voice. “Then he what, left?” Jared grinds out, and Jensen’s heart clips at an irregular pace.

Jensen’s real unsteady on his feet now, and it’s hard to keep his neck far enough back to stare Jared in his eyes. He can tell the moment that Jared takes his body in, and then it’s like Jared almost gives up on keeping himself together.

“Why the hell are you in your boxers.” Jared says, and it doesn’t even come out as a question. “You let him touch you?” Jared says, and Jensen whimpers. He might be drunker than he thought; words aren’t making a great showing on his end of the conversation.

Jared’s eyes darken and then he bends over a little, enough to slide his palms around the backs of Jensen’s thighs. Jared’s lifting so quickly that Jensen gets vertigo, and Jensen curls his legs around Jared’s waist by habit.

One of Jared’s hands comes up to cradle his skull, but it’s not gentle; it’s hard and Jared’s fingers feel like a brand.

“Gonna leave?” Jensen slurs, and it’s more comfortable against Jared’s shoulder, even as Jared navigates them through the residual mess of Jensen’s living room, past the corner of Sir’s newest toy-box.

“I should,” Jared says plainly, and Jensen rears back. “Calm down, Jensen,” Jared says, and his voice comes out quiet. “M’not going anywhere.” Jensen presses forward again, grinds the line of his dick into Jared’s lower abdomen.

“Good. Said you liked my ass,” Jensen says, and Jared makes his way over to Jensen’s bed and sits down on the edge. Jensen bounces a little from where he’s enthroned on the shelf of Jared’s dick, which is firming up nicely beneath him.

“Jensen, you’re fucked up. We’re going to sleep.” Jared catches Jensen’s wrists in his own and pins them firmly in front of Jensen’s chest.

Jensen leans closer, swiveling his hips in semi-circles. “Want you to fuck me.” Jensen says, and his words are coming out in gasps, because Jared’s completely hard beneath him.

Jared’s hips rock up against Jensen’s ass, and then Jared’s hands release his wrists in favor of locking around Jensen’s hips.

“S’not fair, Jen,” Jared says, and he doesn’t sound angry, but his voice is tilted all strange and Jensen’s not a fan of it.

“You wanna, I can feel it,” Jensen says, and he knows he’s whining, but Jared used to hate hearing him whine, used to throw Jensen around like he wanted him to burn up with it the next day.

Jensen sucks his lower lip into his mouth and reaches back behind himself, tucking his right hand down the crease of his ass.

“Jesus. Jesus, Jensen, what’re you doing?” Jared asks, and Jensen just knows Jared’s fingers are gonna leave marks.

“Opening myself up since you’re not gonna,” Jensen says, and then Jared’s flipping them both, so that Jensen feels a little sick and a lot aroused when he’s flat on his back staring up at the halo of Jared’s hair.

“Go to sleep, baby,” Jared says, in that crooked way that Jensen can’t place.

“I’ll fuck you in the morning,” Jared adds, and Jensen’s legs knock themselves open with the thought. “Mmm, okay,” Jensen says, tugging Jared down beside him.

Jared’s fully dressed, dark-wash jeans and a t-shirt, and Jensen’s almost naked. He hooks his leg over Jared’s upper thigh and presses his head into Jared’s sternum.

“Bye,” Jensen says, and Jared’s arm is heavy around his waist.

-

Jensen’s hovering over the toilet the next morning when he remembers.

He vomits twice more from sheer anxiety, and nothing but Belvedere comes out.

He’s stumbling back into his room, ignoring the tall glass of water and unopened bottle of Advil on his nightstand.

There’s no accompanying note; no “Honey, take two of these, I love you.”

Not that Jensen really expected there to be, but still. He can dream. Jensen’s trying to piece together some of what happened last night, and there’s only about one thing he can remember clearly.

Telling Jared that ‘Dan’ just left--and then trying to seduce him, not but five seconds later.

Jensen’s stomach lurches uncomfortably, and he thinks it’ll serve him right if he chokes on his own vomit.

Jensen’s phone is beside the morning-after brigade, and he thumbs it open quickly, scrolling to Jared’s customary contact.

His thighs smack the side of his bed when he sinks down, because Jared’s name has been changed from simply “The King,” to a concoction only Danni could’ve thought up.

Jensen presses call before he can psych himself out, but he needn’t have worried. Jared doesn’t pick up, and Jensen hangs up on voicemail.

That’s fine, Jensen thinks, glances at the bright red of his alarm clock.

It’s nine in the morning. Jared’s probably asleep, especially if he had to drive all the way to Jensen’s apartment that late. Jensen nods to himself, peels back the blankets on the clean side of his bed, where he remembers Jared sprawling last night.

Jensen calls seventeen more times that day and gets voicemail for every last one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lion King themed shot glasses really do exist; they're covered in shame and residual Bacardi in my house right now. Hope you guys like where this is going, your comments are incredible motivation!


	4. Chapter 4

Jensen’s dying.

Technically, he’s perfectly healthy, despite losing five pounds in a week, but his metabolism has always been greatly strengthened by periods of abject despair.

He wishes he could drown his sorrows in ice cream, or starch, but honestly, he couldn’t eat a thing if you paid him.

He knows he’s an imbecile.

It’s not the first time that’s been proven, and it certainly won’t be the last. But this is the first time that Jensen’s felt like he might’ve fucked over someone other than himself.

He’s a nice guy, he really is.

He doesn’t bother people, he’s good at making friends, even though they tend to find him kind of sarcastic and impudent--which is exactly what he likes to hear, by the way--but he’s never actually mean to them.

Sure, boys attempt, more oft than not, to bend him over at every available opportunity, but Jensen’s just come to accept that it comes with the territory of his life.

And, of course, his only serious boyfriend left him over a dispute about Jensen’s next _almost_ -boyfriend, but that’s just too sitcom heavy to sit well with him.

Danni’s thought of everything she could do to help, but he’s just wasting away. Dying here, really.

He glances over to where Sir’s box is sitting, wonders why he’s laying starfish on the carpet beside his TV.

He’s kind of pitiful, because he’s wearing one of two shirts that Jared left behind when they first ended whatever thing they had between them.

It’s just a long-sleeved T, silver, grey and black;  Jensen thinks it’s from Jared’s favorite basketball team, but he’s wearing it inside out and doesn’t feel like checking.

He’s not wearing anything else underneath it, because that involves a level of self-care that he’s long since sank beneath.

Danni’s apologized around four times each day, and Jensen wants to be pissed at her, but he knows that none of this is her fault.

She’s told him a thousand times that he fucked this up, and he’s got only himself to blame. Jensen rolls over onto his side, pillows his head against the flesh of his upper arm.

Collins has called him four separate times today alone, and Jensen knows he’s got to start doing his job again. Collins isn’t gonna yell at him or anything over it, but Collins also doesn’t have a very healthy love affair with patience. Deadlines are meant to be surpassed.

Jensen’s ass is decidedly un-used, and he’s suddenly hungry for something, anything. He pulls his body up using the bottom of his couch, and sways in on himself. He can see white spots dancing in front of his eyes, and he thinks he should probably get some water before he passes out.

-

Jared’s been in porn since he was sixteen years old.

That’s a pretty long time in his opinion, and he’s turning twenty-eight next year. He might need to settle down.

He might want to settle down.

Jared glances over at the wall of awards he’s received from the AVN over the years. He’s even got some trophies from before they re-designed the look, golden statuettes caressing, to the more, abstract outline of coitus.

Jared snorts at the splatter of twisted gold in his bookcase.

Chad says that it contrasts nicely with the eggshell white of his walls, but Chad thinks he’s an authority on how to “Spiderman” fuck a girl, and Jared’s not even sure if that’s legal.

Jared doesn’t care what his shelf looks like; Chad organizes it all, and when he’s not doing it, he hires someone to come in and do it for Jared.

They started in this thing together, both of them too young and pretty for the industry, Jared all wide-smiles and dimples, hair curling softly at the ends.

Chad looked like the night-after present from the Twink Fairy, and the guy knew it, capitalized on wide blue eyes and Aryan hair.

Of course, it’s a little more than a decade later, and Chad’s known for his numerous fetishes--mainly The Horse Thing, which cannot be discussed in polite company--and not for lack of Chad trying.

Chad’s been calling it Horse Whispering since they were like, twenty years old. Jared’s long since given up on making sense of his best friend, and he dissuades anyone else from trying in his wake.

Right now, Chad’s been chattering on and off for about an hour, probably about the Expo in January, and Jared’s not even pretending to listen. Chad likes to hear himself talk from time to time, just to re-assure himself that he still can.

“Fucker,” Chad says, and Jared’s conditioned to respond to the nickname. “Asswipe,” Jared replies on autopilot, and glances over at the inscrutable expression resting on Chad’s face.

“You gotta stop thinkin’ about it, man,” Chad says, and his tone is awkward; he’s never been very good at this half of friendship, but he doggedly tries, and Jared’s more than appreciative for it.

“Huh,” Jared says, and Chad stands, brushes lint off of grey slacks. Chad’s rounding the corner of Jared’s teakwood desk with all the agility his job demands, and Jared visibly braces himself for a whole lot of Chad in his face.

“Jensen Ackles.” Chad says bluntly, perches one corner of his ass on Jared’s desk. “‘Bout yea high?” Chad demonstrates, calm, as if lecturing to a group of five year olds. “Unanimously wins the award for Most Featured in The King’s spank bank for the last seven years?” Chad says, and now his voice is brittle.

Jared stands then, loosening the denim from around the catch of his knee. “I don’t need a pep talk, man.” Jared says, leveling a look down at his best friend.

“M’not wrecked about this.” Jared says, and he’s right, he knows he is. He doesn’t wallow. If things don’t work out the way he’d like, he’s usually well able to move past the issue at hand.

Jared got into porn because he wanted some quick cash--and he got over any squeamishness he ever felt a long time ago. He’s adaptable, his mother has always maintained that philosophy. His parents follow the same route, and have long since accepted Jared’s career aspirations.

His father is a touch more behind Jared’s lifestyle than his mother, but Mrs. Padalecki isn’t really shying away from it either.

So when Jared tells Chad he’s not wallowing; he isn’t lying.

But ruminating is different from wallowing. And Jared knows how to think an idea to death.

Chad rolls his eyes and stands, blocking Jared’s exit, from his own office, nonetheless.

“Stop ignoring his damn calls then!” Chad yells, and Jared raises his eyebrows. He didn’t know Chad was capable of paying that much prolonged attention. “I don’t have anything to say to him,” Jared says, and he overshot casual by about a mile.

Chad’s blue eyes widen a bit and Jared has his first instance of abject panic.

Jared doesn’t even realize he’s skirted around Chad and is backing his way to the door until Chad’s laugh cracks in the silence.

“Christ. Jesus Christ of Nazareth, son of God.” Chad says, and Jared’s heart trips over itself in its haste to stop beating.

Chad’s got about three radars going at any one time, and, to Jared’s eternal shame, one of them is primarily targeted to his wavelength.

Chad looks like he’s piecing together the last side of a Rubix Cube, and the blue squares are giving him a little bit of trouble, but he’s probably about two seconds away--

“You’re fucked up over him,” Chad says, and he breathes it out like a Harlequin romance.

Jared can’t quell his groan in time, and Chad’s face lights up in the way only weed and pussy can illuminate. “Wait. Wait.” Chad’s saying, and Jared schools his face into nonchalance.

“Stop that!” Chad yells, attempting to cuff the back of his head, but only clipping Jared’s shoulder on the upswing.

“We’re only having this conversation once, so stop your damn Batman impersonation for a coupla seconds, man.” Chad says, and Jared blinks twice. He’s listening.

Chad’s face is the color of cherry tomatoes, but he plunges ahead, apparently intent on experiencing enough emotions for the two of them combined.

“You gotta fucking communicate, Jare.” Chad says, and it’s about as serious as Jared’s ever heard him. “You can’t just--” Chad pauses, hands floundering in the air uselessly. “You can’t just do the thing where you--you know, ignore it and let it go away by itself.” Chad’s brow is creased with worry, and Jared’s actually starting to take pity on him.

It’s like Chad’s fighting a losing battle with constipation, and Jared claps him on the shoulder in sympathy.

“Already tried that,” Jared says simply, and he only stumbles a few inches when Chad uses both hands to knock him back a step.

“Jesus you’re stubborn,” Chad mutters, and he’s loosening the pinstripe tie from around his neck.

Jared crosses his arms across his chest and blinks down at Chad. He can wait him out. Chad’s got the attention span of a sewer rat; he’ll be on to the next project if Jared can keep his cool for just a little while longer.

Chad looks up at him, one fist curled fight-tight against his thigh.

Chad’s unwavering, for one holy second, and then all of the frustration eeks out at once, and his fist loosens into something like resolution. Jared holds himself tighter, because this doesn’t feel like surrender; it’s more like understanding.

That’s too close.

“It’s not gonna be like that,” Chad says, and his voice is lamb-silent, the in-between of first frost, and Jared’s back stiffens with the words.

“Chad.” Jared says, and Chad flinches with the warning; he can hear it.

“You don’t even know him man,” Chad continues, inexorable, to no good end. Jared’s face twists, he can feel the give, and he curses under his breath.

“I’m right,” Chad’s saying, and he’s backing up, gives Jared a wide berth, because he knows what happens when anyone opens this can of worms. Chad knows how volatile Jared can be, and he’s already turning his back to Jared as he speaks.

“You’re even more of an asshole than I thought if you think I’m gonna watch you like this again.” Chad grits out, and then he’s gone, slamming Jared’s office door behind him.

-

Jared thinks this a phenomenally bad idea.

He’d like to go on record stating that Chad cajoled him into this; and to refuse all attempts from the Murray Estate to procure the rights to his films when he dies.

Jared rings the bell once, leans against the arch of Jensen’s doorway in what he hopes is a collected manner.

He’s lifting the hem of his t-shirt up to scratch at his stomach when Jensen opens the door, and then Jared’s abruptly, blindingly hard.

Jensen’s flushed, his mouth open on a pant, and his lower lip is fucking raw, swollen in the way it only gets when someone (preferably Jared) has been vigorously gnawing on it.

Jensen’s hair is mussed, the soft spikes he wakes up with, that he hates so much. Jared’s eyes flick down the remainder of Jensen’s body (he’s a goddamn man with a dick, honestly) and then he’s shouldering his way inside, knocking Jensen back into his own house with a ferocity that would scare Jared were he not used to it.

Jensen stumbles backwards, spring-green eyes catching on Jared’s collarbone.

“You couldn’t have fucking called?” Jensen says, eyebrows narrowed in annoyance. Jared’s not listening though, even though he’s pretty dedicated to every little thing that comes out of Jensen’s mouth.

Right now he’s glancing at the haphazard splay of Jensen’s boxers, the curvature of his thighs even though the fabric is twisted around them in haste.

“I came to talk to you,” Jared says, and now Jensen’s looking concerned. “Jare, you okay?” He asks, and then Jensen’s stepping closer, invading all of Jared’s personal space with that body heat and that ass and Jared’s only human.

“Been running a marathon, Jen?” Jared teases, just to watch that pretty rose-flush of embarrassment that Jensen gets when he’s caught out. “Running to the damn door to let you in,” Jensen slings back, crossing his arms across his chest.

Jared steps in closer, knows Jensen gets a little foggy when he’s looming, and he uses it to his advantage every damn time.

“Why’re you here, Jared?” Jensen asks, tilting his head back so he can focus on Jared’s face. Jared’s hands swing low and settle around Jensen’s hips without conscious thought.

“I don’t know Jay, you tell me,” Jared says, and Jensen’s ducking his head in a rush. “I shouldn't've called you,” Jensen says. “Not like that.”

Jared’s fingers tighten and he knows Jensen can feel it; Jared watches as Jensen winces under the pressure, and he suddenly wants to see the bloom of his fingertips on cinnamon skin, follow the line of red up Jensen’s body.

That’s the problem here. He _wants_ too damn much.

“You want me to be your sloppy seconds?” Jared says, and he cringes as a hint of hurt creeps into his tone. Jensen’s head flips up and he squints in confusion. “What?” Jensen asks, and Jared presses that much closer, knocks Jensen back four steps until he’s bracketed against the wall.

“What, Dan didn’t do a good enough job on you last night?” Jared says, and it’s more menacing than he meant, but Jensen drives him fucking insane.

“Wanted me to come and finish the job?” Jared asks, and he’s spitting the words at Jensen now; they might as well be knives.

Jensen’s eyes are wide, and his skin is pink, and Jared wants to stop needing so damn hard.

“Dan?” Jensen says, and then he raises his hands to Jared’s biceps, holds him firm in place.

“Jared, I was drunk--I wanted--uh,” Jensen says, and now he’s ducking his head again, removes one hand to scrub at the nape of his neck.

“I wanted to make you jealous.” Jared raises one eyebrow, he’s listening.

“Dan is Danneel,” Jensen continues, face tucked low and away, and Jared’s more than halfway captivated with the dance his skin’s doing, the ebb and flow of color, all for Jared.

“She’s the one I was at the party with,” Jensen clarifies, and he finally looks up. “The redhead.”

Jared’s still for a second, wonders about the violent thrill of propriety that hums through him at the proclamation, the declaration that Jensen’s wants to be his. Jared shakes his head to clear his thoughts, and then he’s smiling, dirty-sweet.

Jensen looks mildly frightened, and, heaven help him, he loves Jensen this way.

“Couldn’t have asked, sweetheart?” Jared says, and he’s dropping into his lower register, the one he fakes for film, but can only reach when he’s this mind-numbingly turned on, when he’s bent out of shape for Jensen.

“You wanna bounce on my dick, all you gotta do is tell me,” Jared says, and he long since stopped trying to staunch the flow of dirty talk, even before porn. He’s good with his mouth in more ways than one, and he likes to slice deep with his words, and Jensen’s body bows into his without a second thought.

“Jared, you ass,” Jensen says, but he’s blinking up at Jared, cornsilk lashes catching on his cheeks.

Jared’s kind of unnerved at how beautiful he finds Jensen, how much he wants to possess and own and take and keep until he dies, and it sends a lance of arousal down his spine. He shakes against Jensen and Jensen moans, and really? That’ll be Jared’s undoing every time.

“You gonna let me get in you?” Jared says, and he’s already moving his palms to rest over the swell of Jensen’s ass, the fleshy ripeness of it.

Jared leans down over Jensen’s ear, and Jensen’s flushed when Jared snakes his tongue out for a taste of the shell. “You gonna let me keep you?” Jared asks, but he’s pulling away before Jensen can answer. He’s not ready for the sting of rejection yet, he’s gotta build himself back up.

Jensen’s legs are trembling, and Jared loves that, loves Jensen all stripped down, mouth too full of Jared’s dick to lie and act like they don’t make some kind of good sense together.

“Gonna--gonna talk at me?” Jensen says, and he’s sucking that lip into his mouth again. Jared shoves his hands down Jensen’s shorts, knocks them to the ground with the ease of practice.

“Open up darlin’,” Jared says, Texas sweltering in his words the way he’s helpless against when he wants something.

Jensen opens up the sweet pale of his flesh so easy that Jared’s head is hurting with how much blood is being diverted straight to his dick.

Jared’s hand slides down the crease of Jensen’s ass, his thumb is digging into the furl when Jensen stiffens and Jared realizes that Jensen is soaking wet. He’s wet enough that Jared can feel the leakage around his thumb, the tacky-slick of it down Jensen’s inner thighs.

Jared hooks his chin around Jensen’s shoulder and looks down, just wants to see that filthy shine of lube.

“Jesus Christ,” Jared mumbles, and Jensen’s body arches into Jared’s chest, thin barrier of cotton between them. “You’re so fucking wet,” Jared says stupidly, like saying it will make it less true.

“Anything else you wanna point out,” Jensen says breathlessly, and Jared twists his thumb all the way inside, up to the joining of his hand, in retaliation. Jensen mewls with the intrusion, and Jared grins. He’s got big fingers.

“Why’re you wetter than a bitch, sweetheart?” Jared asks, just to hear Jensen gasp.

“Got a big ass dildo I was ridin’ before you came along,” Jensen retorts, and Jared’s shocked at the clarity of the sentence. Jared removes his thumb only to hoist Jensen in the air, and Jensen doesn’t need any encouragement to wrap slender legs around Jared’s hips.

“Hang on, then,” Jared says, and he braces Jensen’s ass with his left forearm, Jensen’s arms tangled up tight around Jared’s neck. Jensen’s idly playing the the ends of Jared’s hair when Jared punches two fingers up his ass with no preamble.

Jensen’s body bends almost backwards, and Jared bends his right leg as a brace to keep Jensen right where he wants him, impaled on his fingers.

Jared’s already walking, pistoning his digits in and out like habit, and Jensen’s shuddering his air out against Jared’s neck.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Jensen murmurs, and Jared slides his ring finger inside the butter of that heat, just to be nice.

“C’mon,” Jared says, his shaft nudging Jensen’s lower abdomen with every step. “Say thank you when someone gives you a gift,” Jared says, and Jensen groans out hot with the command.

“Didn’t gimme anythin’ yet,” Jensen grunts, and Jared stills the glide of his fingers with the statement. “What?” Jared says, turning the familiar corner to Jensen’s room, black and white photographs littering Jensen’s walls, minimalist in the extreme.

Jensen moans and struggles to shove his ass back down, catch some form of movement, but Jared holds firm, frozen in the center of Jensen’s room.

“You c’n fuck my hand,” Jared offers, bites down on Jensen’s earlobe with finality, “soon as you find your damn manners.” Jared scissors him wide, just once, and Jensen rears back, face wine-dark, his lips stained with arousal.

“Thank you for your fingers,” Jensen says, and Jared’s hard pressed to find any green left in Jensen’s eyes. “Thank you for lettin’ me have ‘em, for openin’ me up, lettin’ me fuck ‘em,” Jensen says, and he looks just as floored with the oil-spill of filth as Jared does.

Jared forgoes any prior thoughts of laying Jensen out, making him work for it, when Jensen opens up that pretty pink mouth and gives him that, tells him those things.

“Christ. Jesus fuck,” Jared grinds out, and he’s turning sharply, slamming Jensen up against the wall closest to his door.

Jared doesn’t spare a glance for the picture frames that wobble and take a tumble to the ground next to them; he’s only got ears for the way Jensen cries out on impact, the shock sending Jared’s fingers that much deeper.

Jared slides his fingers free, open V on the way out, and Jensen hiccups with the loss. Jared allows the wall to take some of Jensen’s weight, distributes some to the seat of his right leg, and then jerks Jensen’s chin up to slot his mouth over the pliant one.

He bites hard enough at Jensen’s lower lip to bruise, slices his way into Jensen’s mouth with his tongue, and Jensen opens up for him, drought-hungry.

Jared pulls back far enough to hoist Jensen a little higher on the wall so he has enough room to line his dick up and sink Jensen down.

Jared lives for this moment, the wide stretch of Jensen’s eyes as his mouth falls open when Jared shoves miles of cock up all at once.

Jared’s not gonna last, he’s sixteen again and pussy-deep in Amber Summers on camera, and he’s about to paint Jensen’s insides with his come, slick him up for next time and the time after that and the time after that.

“Fuckin’ hold it in,” Jared grunts, nasty and possessive, and Jensen’s releasing pinched-off moans with every thrust. “Open up for me,” Jared says, and Jensen’s nodding now in agreement.

“Always open for you,” Jensen replies, and Jared’s lizard brain is riding the mile high club with that promise.

Jared swivels his hips one good time, reaches behind Jensen’s taint to reach the swollen rim of his ass, the sticky-swell of it, and Jensen’s eyes snap so wide with Jared’s one touch that Jared grins like a monster.

“Want my fingers again?” Jared asks, soft in the carnage of their fucking, and he presses in on the puffy flesh once more, index and middle, and Jensen’s hips stutter so wildly that Jared almost drops him as Jensen comes.

Jensen’s dick splatters Jared’s t-shirt, and his ass is clenching so hard around Jared’s cock that he’s having a face-to-face meeting with God.

“Fuck. Fuck you came just from me touchin’ you there?” Jared says, and his mouth is running away with him, which always happens right before he comes. He’s spurting in Jensen’s ass as his mouth falls open on degenerative filth, and Jensen’s so limp and sated and fruit-wet above him.

Jared talks his way through his orgasm, the noose of Jensen’s ass, and Jensen keens softly with every punch of Jared’s dick.

“Push my finger up next time,” Jared’s saying, and then he’s coming down, world crystallizing back into recognition when he gets his brain cells back.

Jared swings Jensen away from the wall and Jensen slumps onto his shoulder in exhaustion. Jared peers at the crimson of Jensen’s back, friction burn, and resolves to turn Jensen on his stomach when he lays him on the bed.

Jensen’s hips hitch up when Jared pulls out, and he lets out a moan of loss that has Jared halfway to chasing his ass one more time.

Jensen’s completely still when Jared lays him down, his t-shirt rucked up to expose his warm ass, tendrils of come and lube mixing on his cheeks. Jared palms himself roughly at the sight.

Jared’s turning to the bathroom to get a washcloth when something on the bed catches his eye. His dick is obscene, too many years in porn reminding it that it needs to stay hard at all costs, there could be somewhere warm to house it at any given moment.

Jared catches up the offending object in his hand, follows the line of veins, uncircumcised foreskin. It’s not as long as Jared’s but it’s about the same girth, and Jared would find it weird that he’s this familiar with another dick if he didn’t remember being twenty, shoved into his first threesome.

Jared’s first time topping in conjunction with another man, and he feels his heart coil up in his chest, because he can’t do this again.

Fuck, he cannot do this with Jensen one more damn time.

Jared thinks about leaving, tangling his legs in his shorts one last time and never looking back, and then he remembers Chad’s face, his own goddamned pride.

“Jensen,” Jared says, and he’s surprised at the level of control in his voice. Jensen’s hips hump the bed sheets in a little aborted move that turns Jared on without his permission.

“Hmm?” Jensen asks, and Jared hauls in a breath.

“Any reason you got Sir’s dick in your bed, darlin’?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments keep me going squad


	5. Chapter 5

Fourteen things pass through Jensen’s head at once when he hears Jared’s words.

As is his calling card, none of these thoughts are particularly helpful. For the next seventeen seconds after Jared asks him the question in that scotch-sweet tone of his, unyielding and smooth in tandem, Jensen contemplates playing dead.

On second thought, Jared’ll probably get a kick out that; the idea that his dick actually sent Jensen to the fucking shadow realm. It undoes Jensen, the thought of Jared’s posthumous satisfaction in his prowess, and he’s snorting into his blankets before he can stop himself.

Jensen’s not shocked, per say, when the entire world spins around him as Jared flips him over onto his sore back, but he’s not exactly pleased, either.

“Jesus, are you serious?” Jensen says, eyes trained on the cream of his ceiling as he fights to gather his bearings. “Conan the barbarian don’t have shit on you,” Jensen grumbles, and then Jared’s bracketed over him, hair pulled up into a knot over top of his head.

Jared’s jaw is twitching in his cheek, one of his biggest tells. Jensen likes to see the motion when he’s about to get fucked, when Jared’s up to  _ here  _ with him and can’t even think straight anymore. Jensen’s legs twitch wider in sense memory and Jared’s gaze slides lower in a Pavlovian response.

“Gonna avoid the question?” Jared says, and Jensen raises an eyebrow. Jared’s mouth isn’t even opening around his words; Jensen’s 90% sure that Jared’s shoving his anger out through gritted teeth.

He’s fucking pissed, then.

Jensen scrambles up on his elbows, angles his head back to catch Jared’s eyes.

He’s acutely aware of his nudity, and he can’t help the filthy-thrill it gives him, legs splayed with Jared’s release between them, hungry twitch of his used ass.

Jensen needs to attend a Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting.

“No,” Jensen says, and now it’s Jared’s turn to wait, biceps flexing involuntarily with the strain of holding still over Jensen’s prostrate form.

“S’my job you dumbass,” Jensen says, because now he’s irritated. He’s aware that he was still an asshole to Jared, especially when Jared came by to make sure he was still alive, and didn’t take advantage of him even when Jensen so clearly wanted him to.

Jensen modulates his voice a bit lower when Jared’s body actually spasms above him, and Jensen wonders just how close Jared was to losing any semblance of control.

“He always--he always has me test his product,” Jensen says soothingly, keeps one eye on the phantom tremble of Jared’s hands.

“I never even actually met the guy before that fucking party,” Jensen continues, and Jared’s still staring down at him, impassive in the umpteenth degree. 

“I’ve only seen him in porn, Jare,” Jensen continues, and he feels like he’s got a beast cornered, and he’s trying to assuage it enough to save his own skin. “S’not even as big as yours,” Jensen says, and Jared’s mouth twitches.

“Damn straight,” Jared says, and Jensen can’t even hold in a laugh. “Seriously? All you needed was a little ego boost?” Jensen says, and how Jared manages to shrug in his position is beyond Jensen.

“You’re easy,” Jensen complains, and Jared’s already smirking. “Can’t beat you, darlin’,” Jared says, and Jensen widens his legs in the most obscene gesture he’s seen since Jared made him beg for his fingers in Jensen’s ass.

“S’not fair,” Jared says, and he’s not even looking at Jensen’s face anymore; his eyes are trained on the lessened leak of come from Jensen’s hole. The furl winks involuntarily in anticipation, and Jensen literally cannot open his legs further than he’s got them, hanging off the bed in invitation.

“I wanna go out with you,” Jared says, leaning close enough to Jensen that they’re sharing air, sweat-tacky skin of Jared’s chest catching on his own. “Okay,” Jensen says, swivels his pelvis into Jared’s groin.

“Do  _ not,” _ Jared says, and his hands come up to lock around Jensen’s wrists. Jensen’s hands shudder in the grip, and he finds that he can barely flex his fingers around the handcuff of Jared’s grasp.

“Jensen,” Jared says, and Jensen’s not even listening anymore, too intent on the way Jared’s abs feel against the strain of his dick, firm giving of it.

“Jensen, I will fuck you through your goddamn floor,” Jared says, and his voice is compressed, low hum of power that Jensen responds to shamelessly. Jared’s not finished yet, and he’s so motionless above Jensen that Jensen knows he’s wearing him down.

“As much as I wanna stay here all day and fuck you six ways from Sunday, I think that’s part of our problem, sweetheart,” Jared tries, and Jensen knows he’s not making it easy, with the way he’s writhing like a two cent whore.

“I’ll bring you back after,” Jared says, and Jensen feels bad, there’s a wire-trip of control left in Jared’s voice, and it’s fading fast. “Okay,” Jensen says, and he can feel the flush of his face, knows the liquid-bright of his eyes isn’t doing Jared any favors.

“Jesus Christ Jen,” Jared says, and Jensen tucks his legs closed with a smile.

-

As it turns out, Jared’s idea of ‘going out,’ begins with heading over to his place, somewhere Jensen never thought he’d be invited. 

Jensen’s fiddling with his v-neck, moss-green of it somehow constrictive despite the literal design of the shirt, and Jared’s got one hand tapping out a beat on Jensen’s leg and it all seems  _ normal. _

Jared’s got a car about as big as him, and Jensen snorts at the comparison when Jared asks him what’s wrong. It’s a black F-150, and now that they’re pulling up in front of Jared’s house, Jensen thinks that it might not be the only car Jared’s invested in.

Jensen’s sweating.

He can actually feel the warm-chill of sweat collecting at his hairline, and he’s so not prepared for this. He’s barely prepared enough to take Jared’s horse dick, how the fuck did he think he’d be ready to walk into Jared’s life?

Jared’s looking at him strangely and Jensen turns his gaze down to his lap. Is he being weird? He’s being weird again. Jared’s gonna reverse and drop him back off at home.

“Jensen,” Jared’s saying, and Jensen finally looks up at Jared, mouth in a thin line. Jared looks uncomfortable, and it’s not fair, because Jensen’s the only one who should look that way; Jared’s got his whole life neatly sewn up.

“S-sorry,” Jensen stutters, and then he bites his lip. He goddamn hates when he fumbles over his words, and now Jared’ll know how fucking nervous he is about this whole thing.

He’s texting Danni right now and her only (gracious) response is ‘not to fuck it up again you motherfucker,’ and Jensen thinks that may not be as doable as she hopes.

“Your place smells like sex, baby,” Jared says, and Jensen’s neck actually cracks, he turns to glare at Jared so quickly. Jared’s legs are hanging loose, and one palm is still gripping the wheel. Jared’s eyes look a little cloudy, but he’s already smiling, razor-tipped dimples in his cheeks.

“Whose fault is that?” Jensen says, and he knows he’s glaring, but Jared’s such a goddamned ass. “I’m just out here trying to live my life; you’re the one who’s gotta have his dick up my ass twenty four-seven,” Jensen says, and he’s realizing that his voice is arched up into a yell, and Jared’s smile is indented into his face.

“An’ here’s me thinkin’ I fucked that bad attitude outta you,” Jared replies, and Jensen squirms at the accent leaking from Jared’s mouth, the ownership of it.

“M’just saying,” Jensen says, voice calm. “You’d think you’d be good on the sex front, considering your job and all,” Jensen finished, petulant in the utmost.

Jared’s eyes are still strange, and they pass over Jensen hotly. “It’s nothing like that,” Jared says, climbing out of his car in one motion.

Jensen has about forty seconds to wonder if he’s said something wrong before Jared comes around to his side and jerks open his door. “Want me to carry you in, princess?” Jared asks, and Jensen punches him in the sternum.

“You’re a piece of work,” Jensen says, shoving Jared back a step or two so that he can climb down on his own. “Just wanna piece of that ass,” Jared mutters behind him, and Jensen arches said ass back a fraction, just to hear Jared’s sharp inhalation. 

Jensen’s got about five seconds to appreciate the sound before Jared grabs him by the hip with one hand and spins him so that his back is locked against the dark sheen of Jared’s truck. Jared’s jamming one thigh between Jensen’s legs so quickly that he forgets to lock his knees and Jared’s thigh is hard and hot in the center.

“I don’t like when you tease me,” Jared says, and now his hips are in the game, grinding against Jensen’s dick in a slow twirl. “Don’t like when you show my ass off,” Jared grinds out, and his voice is lead-tipped; Jensen can’t find a shard of humor in the sound. 

“One of these days,” Jared says, shoving his knee up higher against the tight swell of Jensen’s balls, “m’gonna make you come, jus’ like this.” Jared steps back so quickly that Jensen almost slides down the length of the car and onto his ass, and Jared’s grip on his shoulders is the only thing that holds him upright.

Jensen’s head is swimming with too many pheromones when he finally manages to step around Jared and move in the direction of the house. His knees are still in the process of disobeying him when he abruptly remembers to be in awe of the castle that Jared lives in.

Jensen stops short, in the middle of the driveway no less, and Jared sidles up beside him in silence. It’s not really a castle, but to Jensen, it might as well be. Jared’s eyeing him quietly, and Jensen thinks that now would be the time to snap his mouth shut.

It’s four stories high--who needs that many levels? And the driveway is circular, probably so that Jensen can enjoy the open-ended ring of classic cars that lines the area like Pimp My Ride. 

Jensen’s fairly fluent in car, courtesy of his father, and he blinks at the sleek metal tarnish of old-school Corvettes and what looks like one sentimental Packard.

Jared’s house is dark, auburn-soil, and as Jensen regains equilibrium and stalks closer to the fucking medieval fortress, Jared clears his throat.

“It’s a lot,” Jared tries, and Jensen snorts at the half-assed acknowledgement.

“I was twenty when I bought it,” Jared says by way of explanation, and Jensen can understand that. That young, with that much money and time, Jensen would’ve probably fashioned his home after that one scene in Moulin Rouge with Nicole Kidman and Ewan facing off.

Jared steps in front of Jensen when Jensen forgets to answer, and Jensen almost collides with one long line of The King.

“We don’t have to be here,” Jared says simply, and he’s not smiling but he’s not exactly frowning, either.

Jensen waves his hand negligently and grins. “I wanna see how the other half lives,” Jensen says, feigning a lightness he doesn’t feel.

“You got a stripper pole in there somewhere, Jared?” Jensen teases, and then he instantly regrets it, because Jared shoves himself all up in Jensen’s face again, broad daylight on his expensive ass porch.

“Why?” Jared hums, one hand locked around the meat of Jensen’s upper arm. “You gonna gimme a private show?” Jared says, and his voice is dipping down into that place that causes Jensen nothing but trouble every time. 

“Jared,” Jensen hisses, but Jared’s not even listening, pupils dilating, and Jensen’s gotta put a stop to this, real quick.

“Jare, I’ll dance for you whenever you want, but can we not get arrested in the middle of the fucking day?” Jensen asks, and Jared seems to fractionally come back to himself. “We’ll be fine,” Jared teases, and Jensen smirks as he glances at the long, obscene line of Jared’s dick.

“I promise Jare, if a stiff wind comes by right now, your dick’s about to give us all a show.” Jensen says, and Jared wheels around, digging his keys out of his pocket while still holding onto Jensen’s hand.

“Ain’t like it’s gonna be an episode nobody’s seen before,” Jared says with a laugh, and then he’s pushing Jensen ahead of him into the foyer.

Jensen’s probably gonna pass out from shock.

Jensen’s about to tell Jared to let him wallow in his poverty-stricken apartment when Jared cups one hand around his mouth in a yell. “Chad!” He hollers, and Jensen’s taken aback. He didn’t expect for there to be anyone else here, but he’s kind of amused at who Jared is close enough with to allow them to remain in his house, unsupervised.

Jensen turns his head at the unmistakeable sound of something breaking, and then Jared’s releasing his hand, real anger in his voice. “Fucking Murray,” he yells, and Jensen watches as someone slight and blonde trips into view, sliding down the bannister like an episode of Family Ties.

“You’re that guy,” Jensen says, filter ever missing, “the Horse guy,” Jensen flounders in an attempt to make himself understood. Jared’s not red-faced anymore, in fact, he’s grinning, arms folded across his chest in suppressed mirth.

“Dude,” Jensen continues, face wrinkling, “Danni read the Bible for like, two straight hours after she talked to you.” Jared guffaws, honestly, no other word for it, and reaches over to pull Jensen into him, back to chest.

Jensen squirms in the hold, but it only serves to lodge Jared’s not quite soft dick in between the crease of his ass, and he falls still with a huff.

Jared makes a hungry sound in his throat that only Jensen hears, and the Horse guy has on the same shit-eating grin as Jared.

“The redhead, right?” Chad says, and Jensen nods in response. “Damn,” Chad says wistfully, stretches slender palms out in front of him in an approximation of Danni’s rack. “You ever sleep on ‘em Ackles?” Chad says, and Jensen makes an aborted grab for Chad’s face.

“Don’t worry about him, darlin’” Jared says as he effortlessly pins Jensen in place with a hand to his shoulder, “he’s the biggest piece of shit since that dump his favorite horse took this morning.” Jared says, and Jensen laughs despite himself.

It seems to be a routine method of introducing Chad, as Chad only flips Jared off with both hands before turning the full light of his ocean-stare on to Jensen’s face.

“You’re fucking pretty,” Chad says thoughtfully, and Jensen can’t place the look on Chad’s face, but from the way Jared stiffens behind him, he gathers that Jared can. 

“Idn’t he fucking pretty, Jare?” Chad says, and Jared’s voice is tight when he answers. “Goddamned gorgeous, Chad, can we get to the part where you tell me what you broke upstairs?” Jared deflects, and Jensen’s head is swimming from the attempt to keep up.

Chad grins, and even Jensen can admit it’s a charming smile, all loose energy and faulty promises. “I cleaned it up,” Chad says, stretching so that it rucks up the bottom of his t-shirt.

“Most of it,” Chad amends. “Don’t go barefoot in the upstairs kitchen,” Chad warns, and Jared’s reaching around Jensen to slap Chad upside the head, open-handed.

“This is Jensen,” Jared introduces, and then Jensen rejoins the conversational foray with a vengeance. “How’d you know my name?” Jensen says, and Chad just looks hungry for the question. “You’re all this asshole’s been talking about since he met you,” Chad says, and Jensen smiles, feral.

Jared’s scrubbing one hand across the back of his neck, and when Jensen twists to catch Jared’s gaze, Jared’s looking studiously above his head.

“Really,” Jensen says, eyes still fixed on Jared’s chin.

“Damn straight,” Chad says, and then he’s walking ahead of them, in what Jensen assumes is the direction of the living room. 

Jensen’s already in motion, untangling himself from Jared’s restrictive embrace in curiousity. Jared’s mostly silent behind him, but Jensen doesn't get much of a chance to worry when Chad turns to meet him. 

Jensen stumbles backwards as Chad stops short ahead of him, and then Chad slings his arm around Jensen’s waist in a weird half-hug. 

“Welcome to the motherfucking Lair,” Chad gestures expansively, and Jensen allows himself to be steered around the living room by Chad’s arm. 

Jensen catches sight of the couch, Italian leather, which spans the length of the room at large. The ceiling is vaulted, high point reaching up to the heavens, and Jensen can see the ceiling lights littered across the expanse. 

The walls are some kind of charcoal-grey with a very faint metallic sheen, and Jensen smirks at Jared when he sees it. 

The walls are empty except for a smattering of landscape stills, but the wall closest to the window is covered in a puzzle-esque conglomerate of photos. Chad’s dragging him closer, wiry arm hanging about Jensen’s hips, and Jensen’s glad that he’s used to Danni manhandling him around.

“This right here,” Chad says, gesturing at the wall expansively, “is called Arsenic and Old Lace,” Chad says, and Jensen snorts. “Like--” Jensen starts, “the movie, yeah,” Jared finishes, and he finally looks less uptight.

Chad’s smirking somewhere over Jensen’s shoulder, and Jensen dislodges Chad’s arm to move closer to the photos. “I wouldn’t think y’all’d know what that movie was,” Jensen says, and Chad’s already walking toward the open bar. “I’ve never even seen it,” Jensen says absently, hands running over the stills of Chad and Jared as teens, Chad shoving Jared off what appears to be some sort of cliff--the pair of them in handcuffs--

“I’m a fucking old film aficionado, dude,” Chad proclaims, whiskey sloshing around the tilted rim of his glass. “Chad and I used to get detention a lot,” Jared says, still maintaining his distance. “We had a teacher, Mr--uh, fuck, Mr--Chad, what was his name?” Jared says.

Chad’s popping back what looks to be his third shot, and he raises one eyebrow at Jared. 

“Mr. Fernandez dude, we used to call ‘im Fernads?” Chad prompts, and Jared’s already nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, Fernads. Anyways, he gave us detention like twice a day, every day, and then we’d have to come to his fucking class after school, and he’d always make us watch these black and white movies.” 

Jared’s been steadily walking toward Jensen, and now they’re side by side, Jared glancing fondly at old memories.

“At first,” Chad chimes in, “it was fucking torture. The amount of titties in the 30’s is like, non-existent, man.” Chad says, and Jensen grunts. “Glad you managed not to jack off in the same room as your teacher, Chad,” Jensen says, and Jared’s loud snort is worth Chad’s nasty look.

“But then, I don’t know,” Jared says, “we kinda started getting into it.” Chad hums, passing Jared a shot with the twitch of a smile on his face. “Man, you cried during The African Queen,” Chad says, and Jensen’s grin is so wide it’s hurting his face.

Jared’s ears are pink flushed, and Jensen doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jared blush, ever seen him as anything less than The King, fucking people into oblivion.

“Any-fucking-way,” Jared says dismissively, “we started watching ‘em on our own,” Jared says with a shrug, “and we liked it, so now we have a collection, and a fucking ton of bad movie puns.” Jared shoves one hand through his hair and Jensen’s momentarily distracted by the long glide of his fingers.

“Arsenic and Old Lace is about this dude who visits his aunts, right, and they’re like, cool as shit, but they keep fucking killing old men.” Chad says, and then Jared interjects, “but they’re really fucking nice, Jen. Like bake you cookies and birthday money nice.”

Jensen’s head is swimming from trying to keep up with Tweedledee and Tweedledum over here, and he holds his hands up.

“M’not bashing it guys, you can get your rocks off to whatever you want.” Jensen teases, and Chad’s mouth is moving before Jared can get a word in edgewise. “We all know how you get off Ackles, no need to keep that ass so uptight.”

Jared’s grinning so big that Jensen doesn’t have the heart to tell Chad to piss off. “Fix your face before that’s the only thing you see when you’re gettin’ off,” Jensen says and Jared makes a half-assed attempt to look less smug.

“You gonna go to the Expo with us Ackles?” Chad says, and his words are uncomfortably slurred for someone who has been drinking heavily at three in the afternoon. “What, like a car show?” Jensen asks stupidly, and Chad’s dribbling scotch down his neck, he’s laughing so hard, and Jared just looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“A--a car show.” Chad says, and then he’s slinking over to the couch, slight wobble in his step. “Yeah, Jen,” Jared says, looking amused against his best efforts. “You’re gonna see a lotta different makes and models there.” Jared pauses. “If you wanna come, that is.”

Jensen’s eyes are stupid big, he knows that, but if Jared’s talking about what he thinks he is, then there’s absolutely no way that Jensen wants to be around for this big porn showcase. When Jensen’s not high and drunk off of the sight of Jared’s dick, it’s honestly frightening. 

How many of those is he supposed to be able to stomach at once?

That must be the reason he answers, “Sure. What days?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys are making me so happy.


	6. Chapter 6

Jared’s ex-girlfriend calls him when he’s sunk about three-quarters of the way into Jensen. Jared’s got one hand around Jensen’s neck, and he’s just playing with the soft skin there; the spun-sugar hollow of Jensen’s throat.

Jensen’s legs are akimbo on either side of him, twitching with phantom pleasure. Jen’s eyes are shut and his mouth is slack, broken off moans peeling through pomegranate-skin. 

Jared’s enamored with his pretty-boy, dick-wide and sweaty, and he thinks he’ll just about leak out with how much he needs Jensen in his life. He curls his hands around Jensen’s waist in belated triumph and Jensen arches up, hands hanging about Jared’s shoulders.

“Fuck,” Jensen groans, and Jared can barely make the word out, dry-hungry from Jensen’s mouth. “Please, Jared,” Jensen says, and he undulates against Jared’s chest, tacky connection forcing Jared’s dick that much closer, swallowed up by Jensen’s warmth.

“Any more’n you’re gonna choke on it baby,” Jared says, and he’s molasses-heavy with the words, grinds his dick up that much further and slaps Jensen’s legs open in an obscene V. Jensen shivers and moves his hands down from Jared’s shoulders to curl them under his own knees.

Jared watches as Jensen spreads himself window-bare and allows Jared to peruse, take his fill of cinnamon-flavored skin. Jensen’s neck is bowed against the pillow and Jared leans down to bite at the vulnerability of it without much thought. He loves the way Jensen thrashes underneath him, caught in the black widow of Jared’s clutch.

“Gonna let me mark you up?” Jared asks, and it’s not quite a question, but then again, Jensen doesn’t take it as one. Jared’s curling one hand around the rosebud of Jensen’s wounded neck when his Iphone rings, and Jensen’s ass clenches around him at the sound.

Jared’s body stiffens at the ringtone, and Jensen’s eyes slide open, glazed and dilated with arousal. “You tryin’ to take that?” Jensen says, pushes his hips down in a violent motion that has Jared bending above him, all the air smashed from his lungs.

It’s the Imperial March theme, and Jared’s hardwired to respond to it, years of self-preservation leading to this moment.

“Gonna be quiet,” Jared says, and he watches Jensen bite at his lower lip, shove down the words he clearly wants to say. Jensen hates a challenge, more than that though; he hates the thought of losing.

Jared leans across his bed, Egyptian cotton rucked down to the floor in a merlot-stained heap. Lauren’s face stutters across his phone screen in the final ring before voicemail, and Jared slides the phone to accept. Her voice trickles down the line in that  _ particular  _ cadence that almost takes him from impassioned to enraged.

“How long did you let me ring this time,” Lauren says, and it’s pleasantly bitchy, and Jared swivels his hips one good time and grins when he nudges Jensen’s prostate with the shove. Jensen’s torso spasms and Jared watches the catch-and-grab of his open mouth.

Jared’s instantly amused; he’s gonna have way more fun with this conversation than he first thought.

“I picked up, didn’t I?” Jared says, and he hears her sharp-intake of air on the other end, the one that prefaces verbal violence. “I don’t want to fight, Jared,” Lauren says, and Jared hears the honey in her voice, that slick-pretty that always means she wants something.

Jared tightens his grip around Jensen’s neck and Jensen’s hands come up to frame Jared’s wrist, corded and intense against the impression of Lauren in his ear. Jensen doesn’t tug at Jared’s hold; he only drags him down further, and Jared could come from that alone.

Jared follows the line of Jensen’s chest down to his dick, the lantern-flush of it, encased in a spit-warmed cock ring, courtesy of Jared’s mouth. Jared maintains his hold around Jensen’s neck and simultaneously leans back on his haunches, tilts his cock in at a deeper angle.

Jensen mewls gently, and Jared presses his phone closer to his ear in an attempt to muffle the sound.

“Then don’t fight, Lo.” Jared says, and his voice is strained, sheath of Jensen’s ass his undoing. “I wanna see you.” Lauren says, voice low, and it smothers Jared, the gentility of it; abrasion of a girl he used to know.

“I just wanna talk.” Lauren pauses, and Jared takes the opportunity to begin to fuck Jensen in earnest, steady pumps of cock that have Jensen’s mouth hanging open on spit and want. 

“C’n talk like this,” Jared says, and his voice is thick with Jensen, the pretty-ample splay of his sweetheart. 

Lauren must hear it in his voice, the disregard of her, and her tone ratchets up to the atmosphere, shrill in his ear.

“Are you on set right now?!” She yells, and Jared thinks it’s hilarious that she’d be so riled up at something he’s done before, something he hasn’t bothered to do with her in a long-ass time.

“Your godson wants to see you,” Lauren says, and her voice is clipped. Jared’s blind-red, furious in ways he doesn’t remember how to be. Jensen’s eyes are glass-green and thirsty, and his lip is gnawed down to the quick, soft pillow of blush and cream.

Jensen’s face is claret, Jared’s fingers digging into airways, thumb to index around the circumference. 

Jared releases him in horror, Lauren still tangled up on the line, but Jensen’s hauling in his air and his hips are humping against nothing.

“Baby, baby,” Jared says, and Jensen’s smiling, beauty-crooked in his cheeks. “Fuck, fuck, c’n I come?” Jensen says, voice hollowed and bruised. “Please, Jared, please,” Jensen says, and Jared tugs the ring free, practiced twist of his fingers, and Jensen’s coming, warm flush against his hand.

Jared’s so engrossed in the sway of Jensen’s body, sweat-slick shine of him, that he almost misses Lauren on the other end, cage of her voice.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

-

Jensen knows he’s got issues.

They’re not as bad as they could be, he’s aware, but the longer he stays with Jared, the worse they seem.

This time; he thinks it’s not quite all in his head.

The sex is white-hot-burning, but Jensen expects nothing less from a pornstar, and Jared’s dick could convert atheists. 

But he can’t tell if the phone call was just to keep shit interesting, or if Jared really needed to talk to the person on the other end. Jensen shakes his head. Whoever Jared was talking to was obviously important, if the call couldn’t even wait until Jared was done fucking him.

Does Jensen want to be in competition with someone like that?

Jensen digs his fingernails into his palms, braces himself with the dull-cut of skin. He’s just gonna talk to him about it. He’s gonna text Jared that he’s got some questions about the whole thing, and they’re gonna come out okay. Jensen bites the inside of his jaw. 

Sure, he’s lying to himself. But still.

And what kind of fucking name is Lo, anyway? Jensen snorts down into his hands. A nickname, obviously. A nickname for a person Jared is clearly very close to. A person--

Jensen comes back to Earth with a slap of Collins’ hand on the desk, and Jensen’s raising his eyebrows in irritation.

“Good to see you’re back with us,” Collins says airily, and Jensen chances a look around Collins’ office. It’s rainbow-themed on three sides, except for the fourth wall, which is steadfastly painted in white and black stripes, ‘for balance.’

More importantly, though, it’s just he and Collins in the room.

“It’s just us here, you know that right?” Jensen says, allows every inch of his frustration to spill into his tone.

Collins grins at the snark and curls his hand underneath his chin. “Did you finish the piece on Sir’s toy?” Collins asks, eyes squinted in thought. 

Jensen leans back in the chair and spreads his legs wider. He needs a fucking donut for his ass, but he’s also not about to ask for one. He curses Jared’s dick in every language he can think of, all three of them, and smirks.

“Submitted it this morning,” Jensen says, and Collins is all business now, fingers steepled before him. 

“What’s it called again,” Collins says, rummaging around on his desk for a stray slip of paper. “What, the toy?” Jensen says, and Collins glances up in agitation. “No, your cell phone provider.” Collins says, pausing in his search to smile widely at Jensen.

“Verizon, and it’s called ‘Lawyer Up,’” Jensen says derisively, but he can admit, he kind of likes the name. It makes him laugh, and that’s a point in the right direction.

“HA!” Collins yells, and Jensen wishes he could say he’s unused to this kind of behavior from his boss. 

“Well,” Collins says, making the universal sign for elaborate. “What did you think?” Jensen stretches again, legs hanging empty in front of him.

“I don’t know,” Jensen says, and then hurries on before Collins can have an aneurysm. “It was good. Thick, y’know?” Jensen scratches his head as he runs through his article in his mind.

“If he’s really going for that extra thing, he should probably think of doin’ something else.” Jensen says, shrugging. “It’s a good toy for a size queen, though.” Jensen crosses his ankles before him and Collins is nodding, scribbling the information down.

“You always used to like his stuff,” Collins remarks without looking up from his notes. “Didn’t say I didn’t like it,” Jensen points out. “Just said he’s gonna have to think outta the box to stay relevant.” Jensen needs to stand right the fuck now, his ass is falling asleep and he feels the phantom ache of Jared’s dick.

“Right. Right.” Collins says, and Jensen glances from Collins’ Mac to the paper he’s currently burning a hole through with the ferocity of his writing. 

“Don’t forget to mention that my ass is hard to please,” Jensen says, and now he’s just fucking around with Collins, watches the way Collins leans up on the lip of his desk to scrawl, tongue poking out through his teeth.

Jensen’s outright laughing at how seriously Collins’ is taking the whole thing when he stiffens, feels a prickle beginning at the back of his neck.

“Why don’t you just tell him yourself?”

-

Jared considers texting Jensen, but he knows that Jensen went in early to talk to his boss, and he doesn’t want to monopolize his time like that.

Jared  _ does  _ want to own Jensen entirely, though, and the thought of Jensen’s peach-round ass clinging to him is enough to make him almost swerve into the other lane.

Jared wishes he’d forgotten the way to Lauren’s house, but since he’d spent around two years of his life there, he doesn’t think that it’s going away anytime soon.

He’s pulling into the driveway, sleek turn of his i8 . He can admit that he’s big enough to come over, but not so well-adjusted that he doesn’t want Lauren to see exactly how successful he is.

The door rises above his head as he climbs out, all legs and limbs, and he adjusts his collar as he peers up at the eggshell-white of Lauren’s home.

Jared’s barely pulling his hair up when the front door opens and Jared sees Ryan running in his direction. Jared’s heart does a funny skip in his chest when he sees the three-year old, and Jared honestly thinks that he cannot do this.

Ryan looks just like him, dark-haired and cerulean, and Jared glances up to see Lauren leaning against the doorframe, spandex running shorts clinging to her thin frame.

Jared looks away from her and swings down to his knees just in time for Ryan to hit his arms rather than the unforgiving bone of his shin.

“Hey baby,” Jared says, catching the boy up into the cradle of his arms. Ryan squeals and shoves at Jared’s five o’clock shadow with sticky hands. “Not a baby,” Ryan yells, legs jerking in Jared’s grip.

“Oh you’re not, huh?” Jared says, and he’s aware that they’re still in the middle of Lauren’s driveway, but he doesn’t have the stomach to come into the house, where it’ll smell like them and Him.

“I’m twee and half,” Ryan says, as seriously as one can when they’re being tickled to death. Ryan turns to face his mother when he says his age and she nods with a smile.

“Gonna be as tall as me soon, huh,” Jared says, shoving down the brutal ache inside his chest at this little boy, the guilelessness of childhood eyes.

Ryan’s nodding, black curls on his cheeks, and Jared actively avoids stiffening when he hears Lauren call out to them. “C’mon, inside you two,” she calls, crisp-foreign of her voice, and Jared’s eyes are downcast as he moves in her direction.

-

Ryan’s got child-sized cars littering the house, baby Escalades and Hummers, and Jared knows that at least two of them are from him.

Ryan’s attention is held by the big Nerf gun he brought over, and Jared’s man enough to admit that he brought it mostly to spite Lauren. She hates the idea of projectiles potentially hitting her furniture, but Jared thinks that’s hypocritical, considering the amount of times his come has hit her kitchen table.

“Baby,” Lauren says, her voice warm in the way it only is when she’s talking to Ryan. “Take that to Ella,” Lauren says, reaches out a manicured hand to run through Ryan’s scalp.

The boy shakes her off with practiced impatience, but he’s standing, dragging the gun behind him. 

Ella’s his nanny, and Jared cranes his head around the corner to make sure the kid makes it there, and doesn’t try anything stupid with the toy along the way.

“Jared,” Lauren says, and Jared keeps his head bowed as he prays for grace and strength. 

“I came Lo,” Jared says lowly, eyes fixed on carpeting beneath him, elaborate Turkish design. Jared’s socks dent the pattern; Lauren stills hates shoes in the house.

“Will you look at me?” Lauren says, and there’s a desperation in her voice that Jared’s wired to respond to.

Her hair is tucked behind both ears, making her face more angular than it would be otherwise. She’s playing with her cuticles and Jared has to sit on his palms to prevent himself from taking her hand out of habit.

“He’s not in town,” Lauren says dryly, and Jared hates himself for flinching. 

“Gathered that, considerin’ that he’s not with Ry.” Jared winces, hates that his accent gives away his moods as easily as words.

“I don’t know--” Lauren says, and then she’s curling her legs up underneath her, voice catching. “I don’t know if he’s coming back this time.” She says.

Jared’s hands curl into fists underneath his ass and he doesn’t answer for a second.

“He’s not like that.” Jared says firmly, and if there’s anything that Jared knows, it’s that he wouldn’t leave his kid. He wouldn’t leave Ryan.

Lauren’s eyes are wild when she looks up, and then she’s leaning forward, fingernails catching on Jared’s bicep.

“He blames me.” Lauren says, and he can tell she’s keeping an ear out for Ryan. “He’s always blamed me, but it’s not my  _ fault,”  _ she says. Jared blinks at her, can’t believe she’s still delegating blame when it’s been years.

“It takes two, Lo,” Jared says, and he knows his voice is devoid of life, but honestly, he’s fucking tired of this dance. They made their bed.

“Why’re we doin’ this again?” Jared says, and he wants to find Ryan, grab the kid and make a run for it, because this isn’t the kind of environment a child needs. 

“I fucking miss you,” Lauren hisses, and it sounds like threat rather than fact. Jared rears back; he’s about two seconds away from losing any control he came in here with. 

“You miss me?” Jared says, and his voice is quiet, emotionless spool of thread. He knows Lauren remembers it, the waves of his anger, and from the way she shrinks back in her seat, he knows her self-preservation is still intact.

“Did you miss me when you did it?” Jared’s voice is hovering in the same cadence, and he hates when he’s this angry, this out-of-body experience of his own feelings. 

“You think about this when you were pregnant with Ry?” Jared’s hands are resting on his thighs, and not for the first time, he’s wondering how’d they’d look wrapped around Lauren’s throat.

“You miss gettin’ fucked hard and put away wet,” Jared says, vulgarity of his words forcing a flame into her cheeks. “S’not about that you ass--” she starts, but then Jared’s standing; he’s tall for moments like these.

“Shut the fuck up. You talked.” Jared says calmly, “it’s my turn.”

Lauren leans her head back to meet his gaze, and Jared can see the fury in her eyes, the intermingle of honest-to-God fear.

“M’not in this. Not anymore.” Jared bends down so that he’s closer, head almost level with hers. “You two made damn sure of that.” Jared says.

Jared presses in further, so that his mouth caresses the outer shell of her ear. Lauren trembles underneath him, caged bird, and Jared’s always been hungry for that kind of power.

“And if you ever use my godson to get me over here again,” Jared says, kind-chill of his words, “You’ll wish this was the last time you saw me.”

-

“She what?!” Chad yells, and Jared motions for his best friend to sling him another shot.

Jared’s head lolls back against the comforting leather of his couch, and Chad shoves the Glenlivet into his open palm. Dre’s Deep Water is a bloodthirsty hum in the background; he can always depend on Chad to provide a fitting playlist for his rage.

“Eyes up,” Chad says, and Jared wrestles his head upright as he inhales the liquid.

Chad’s nursing the bottle against his chest, and he’s wearing Jared’s old Berkley hoodie and nothing else, but Jared’s seen Chad’s male bits in every form possible, and he doesn’t think this is gonna blind him any worse than the other times have.

“So she, what,” Chad tries again, angling for a more cohesive story.

“She fucking--she fucking tells me that Ry wants to see me,” Jared says, waving the glass in the air, “and so, a’course I go over,” Jared says.

“Cause you’re not an ass,” Chad says. “Cause I’m not an ass,” Jared continues. “She tells me that he’s not home, right, and that he blames  _ her  _ for everything that happened.” Jared snorts in derision and Chad fills his glass once more.

Jared can’t even taste anything at this point, but he likes the bitter-burn in his chest, the grounding of it. 

“Says she misses me.” Jared says, and then he’s hurling the glass across the room to shatter against the fireplace. 

Chad’s tossing him another in an instant, and Jared catches it with the ease of drunken practice. “She miss you when she was riding his dick?” Chad says thickly, and he upends the last of the bottle into Jared’s glass.

“S’what I said!” Jared yells, and Chad’s nodding sagely; he’s a damn good friend.

“Then what,” Chad prompts, standing and crossing over the the open bar, varnished wood and rainbow bottles wavering before Jared’s eyes.

“Told her if she ever used her kid like that again, she’d wish she’d never seen me at all,” Jared says, and the sun of his anger is hovering at Kill. 

Chad’s nodding, wise in that way that Chad only lets like, four people see, and Jared burps once, his stomach making way for more liquor.

“I’ve been doing good, too,” Jared says, and Chad’s holding something that looks like scotch, but Jared can’t really tell from this angle. 

“It’s their fucking mess, Jay,” Chad says, and Jared’s standing, nodding to himself. 

“You got something good going for you too,” Chad says, swirls the brown in the bottom of his glass thoughtfully. Jared shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to face Chad. Damn straight. He’s got a stainless-steel boy in his bed, and all he wants to do is take care of him.

“Fuck.  _ Fuck, _ ” Jared says abruptly, and then he’s frantically patting himself down. “What?” Chad says, setting the glass on the mantle before Jared inadvertently breaks it with his flailing. 

“I gotta call Jen,” Jared says, and he always sobers up when he’s afraid, and even his limbs feel too cumbersome. Chad relaxes visibly at the explanation, and he reaches into the hoodie-pocket, holds up Jared’s phone with a grin. 

“Padalecki 101.” Chad says, and Jared sighs from the tips of his toes. “We ain’t fourteen anymore Chad, you can let me keep my phone.” Jared says.

Chad’s about to make a joke, Jared can tell, but then Jared’s phone goes off, and they’re both still for an elongated, drunken second. 

Jared’s about to dive over back of the bar for the device when it registers to both of them that they can hear the phone ringing in two separate places.

Jared glances at Chad, who has gone even paler than his skin tone suggests, and it’s Jared who leaps with agility over the couch and jogs to his front door.

Jensen’s staring down hard at his phone, and Jared could kiss the pout off of Jensen’s face, the syrup insecurity of it. Jensen’s other hand is tucked into his pocket, and he blinks up at Jared slowly.

Jared’s got the tolerance of an alcoholic, probably due to the fact that he and Chad have probably partied and drank themselves into an early grave, but he knows what Jensen looks like drunk, and this is it.

His baby is flush-faced, and from the way he’s swaying; he’s been drinking for a while.

“Jensen did you drive here?” Jared says, slinging one arm around Jensen’s hip and pulling him into the warmth of the house. Jensen’s wearing sweats and a hoodie, and his hair is damp with the soft rain outside.

“What?” Jensen says, and Jared’s burning with the desire to kiss him, and so he does. He traps Jensen’s chin in between his thumb and index and licks into his mouth, and Jensen makes an audible moan against him.

“Motherfuckers,” Chad says, and Jared pulls away with a smack. Jared allows his thumb to roam over the plunder of Jensen’s mouth, and he can feel the slight tremor of Jensen’s body.

“You drive here?” Jared remembers, and he can’t help the anger tinging his words. Jensen shakes his head no, and Jared guides him to the couch.

“Danni dropped me off,” Jensen admits, and Jared runs one hand through his hair and watches as Chad sighs in relief. “She says you’re supposed to take care’a my drunk ass,” Jensen says pointedly, and Jared pulls Jensen into his side, ever grateful for Jensen’s inability to keep his mouth shut.

“I called you all day,” Jensen says, and now he’s looking down at his hands, confusion, rather than hurt, coloring his words. “I wanted to talk to you,” Jensen says, and Jared’s already resolving not to allow Jensen to drink around others; alcohol leaves his boy bare and open, and Jared’ll be damned if anyone takes advantage of that.

“We can talk tomorrow baby,” Jared promises, kissing twice at the crown of Jensen’s head. Jensen’s shaking his head beside Jared, nodding yes. 

“I gotta pretty mouth,” Jensen says quietly, and from the way it bubbles up, Jared thinks Jensen might’ve been trying to say that all along.

Jared’s grip on Jensen’s waist tightens, and even though he’s slightly clouded with inebriation, he doesn’t miss the narrow stare that Chad sends him above Jensen’s head. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> squad, because of your comments I have so much written now; you'll never have to wait again.  
> Addendum: never have to wait in an untimely fashion. Chapters will come out super regularly, and the next installment will be out early this week, Thursday rather than Friday!  
> Go team! (Sorry I got your hopes up, I'm an unintentional liar)


	7. Chapter 7

Jensen’s pillow moves rhythmically beneath his head, and it's soft and firm in varying degrees. 

He's wondering when they developed heated-pillows and why it took them so long to do so when he realizes he's just propped up on Jared’s sleep-warm chest. 

Jensen’s eyes open slowly, and he almost slams them shut again against the onslaught of sunshine in his face.

He must make a noise because all of a sudden his pillow shifts until Jared is lying on top of him, and Jensen lets out a grateful whimper. 

“That better darlin’,” Jared asks, and his voice is morning-thick and smooth, his forehead resting just over the crown of Jensen’s hair. 

“Uh huh,” Jensen says lazily, and he wiggles his hips in an effort to get more comfortable. That puts him in the direct line of fire of Jared’s dick, and Jensen stutters out a gasp as Jared swells in real time. 

“Jared,” Jensen says warningly, but Jared’s laughing, concrete-rough of it, and Jensen’s own cock lengthens in response. 

“Always sound like my old priest when you say my name like that,” Jared notes, and it's intimate; he's speaking into Jensen’s hairline, low whispers and louder words. 

“I bet you were a sinner’s wet dream durin’ Mass,” Jared says, and Jensen’s hips stutter up into Jared’s pelvis. Jared spreads his arms from their benign sprawl around Jensen’s torso to reach up and capture his wrists. 

“Gonna make me confess?” Jared says, and if Jensen had access to a hand right now, he’d be grabbing at Jared anywhere he could reach. 

Jared levers upright, bracing his weight against the fragile bone of Jensen’s wrists, and Jensen’s head whines a bit in pain from the advent of daylight.

Jared’s looking down at him, eyes slightly bleary from alcohol-induced sleep, but Jensen can’t look away. “You’da been my little choir-boy, wouldn’t you?” Jared says, and it’s too downright filthy to make real, to let loose on open air this early in the morning.

Jensen squirms in Jared’s grip and he wants to roll his eyes, but Jared’s mouth is as big a part of him as his dick, and Jensen isn't quite sure how he lived without either of them. 

“S’fucking nasty,” Jensen says, and he hates how he sounds more breathless than angry, need in his voice overshadowing anything else. Jared leans down, holds a push-up just an inch above Jensen’s face.

The movement is so sudden that Jensen jerks in Jared’s grasp, and Jared’s eyes are smiling but his face is taut.

“You  _ love  _ it,” Jared says, and there’s no question couched in the phrase, only raw knowledge. 

“Woulda let me bend you over the altar,” Jared continues, and Jensen can tell he’s getting worked up, the thought of tarnishing all that innocence. Jensen bares his neck and smiles, languid and sweet.

“Rather sit on your face,” Jensen tries, and he only has about four seconds to worry about his distinct lack of dirty-talk acumen before Jared’s removing one hand to shove Jensen’s thighs wider around his legs. 

“Shit,” Jared says, and Jensen likes that, loves making Jared uncoordinated and sloppy. Jensen arches his legs into a diamond, and Jared drops completely to fit between them.

“See,” Jensen says, and then he takes a deep breath. “How’re you gonna confess anything when m’riding your face?” Jensen says, and Jared’s pupils dilate visibly at the words.

Jared scrambles backwards, sitting upright so that he’s leaning all his weight on his haunches.

“C’mere,” Jared says, loose tone of his voice sending shivers down Jensen’s spine. “Get up here then.” Jared repeats, and Jensen sits up slowly, vision fading out with how quickly Jared reverses their positions. Jared wraps his large hands around Jensen’s waist and lifts, spinning Jensen’s body at the same time as Jared moves to the head of the bed.

Jared drags his way down the California King, head splayed against the blood of his pillow, and Jared opens his legs wide enough to palm his dick, catch-and-drag of his hand against the thick crown.

Jensen’s eyes are wide, the slick-sheen of Jared, and Jared’s looking up at the ceiling when he speaks. 

“Climb on then,” Jared commands, and Jensen scurries forward, brackets his legs so that they fall open around Jared’s ears. Jensen reaches out one hand to brace himself against the headboard and, after a second thought, he uses his left hand to palm his ass wider for Jared’s eyes.

“Fuck, shit,” Jared breathes, and then he raises one of his hands up to pull Jensen’s other cheek apart. 

Jared blows cool air across his hole, and just as Jensen’s shivering, Jared dives in, heedless, the way he remains in all his endeavors.

Jensen keens, no other word for it, and his knees buckle automatically. Jared pulls away once, taps his thumb against the furl thoughtfully. “Think I can make you come like this?” Jared asks, and before Jensen can answer, Jared licks a line from hole to taint, and Jensen has to move his hand from his ass to steady himself against the bedpost.

“Jared, Jared, Jared,” Jensen chants, and Jared hums against his ass, satisfaction in the sound. Jensen’s stomach curls within him; the slick-dagger of Jared’s tongue. Jensen’s making steady noises in his throat, and he can hear himself whining with how good it is, but he can’t stop.

“Please, wanna feel you deep,” Jensen says, and he’s so far past embarrassment that he can’t even see where the line once was.

Jared pulls his lips away with a wet smack, and Jensen can hear Jared heaving in his breath below him. Jensen chances a look down between his legs, and Jared’s face is flushed, lips infection-swollen.

“Louder,” Jared says between breaths. “Wanna hear you beg for it,” Jared says, and then he’s shoving his face back between Jensen’s trembling thighs. Jensen’s chest is vibrating, and he glances down at his own dick, the violent-shine of it.

It sways thickly against his chest, and Jensen shudders with the tight-heat of his erection, almost painful in its intensity.

“Can I touch,” Jensen asks, and he’s weak from keeping himself hovered above Jared’s face. Jared’s hips are swiveling in mid-air behind him, and Jared pulls back long enough to say, “hell no, nothin’ but this sweetheart,” and Jensen’s about to cry now, so on edge with the pain-pleasure of it.

Jensen takes both hands and grabs the top of the headboard, and then he’s lifting with his thighs, steady hump into Jared’s mouth, drill into the center of Jared’s satin tongue. Jared nips at his rim, raw scrape of teeth, and Jensen jitters above him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jensen cries, and Jared’s fingers are carving up the soft flesh of his hips. Jared’s humming consistently against Jensen’s ass, smug propriety in the action.

Jared’s hand moves away from its sheath around his own dick, and Jensen’s body slumps when Jared snakes his finger in between the cavern of his mouth and Jensen’s hole. Jared pulls back far enough to shove his index through the weakened resistance of Jensen’s ass and he laughs hotly at the same time.

Jensen gasps wetly and squirms once, then his ass tightens around the intrusion. Jared pulls away entirely and he’s grinning up at Jensen’s bowed form.

“C’mon baby,” Jared says, and the next chilled touch of teeth against his rim has Jensen coming, squirting around the introduction of Jared’s hand on his dick. Jared nips and bites at Jensen’s ass as he wrings the untouched orgasm out of him, and Jensen’s trembling so hard that Jared has to guide him into a prone position over top of Jared’s sticky chest.

Jensen can feel the steel-tipped line of Jared’s cock poking between the soft of his spread thighs, and he sighs against Jared’s neck.

Jared’s hands are roaming down his back and ass, and Jensen mewls in contentment when Jared’s fingers find the loose gape of his ass, and Jared growls when he slides two fingers deep, unfettered.

“Baby,” Jared says softly, and Jensen’s sweat-damp hair scrubs Jared’s collarbone. “Hmm,” Jensen says, satiated in the utmost.

“Why’d you come over drunk as hell last night?” 

-

Jared’s not facing him, back a tense line in the kitchen, and Jensen grips the corners of the marble tabletop in silence.

Jensen’s still pleasantly loose from being eaten out, and Jensen thinks that maybe if Jared had gotten off he’d be feeling a little bit better right about now.

“You’d be less uptight if you let me ride you,” Jensen offers, and Jared doesn’t move except to crack an egg on the edge of the bowl.

Jensen’s face flushes at the resounding silence, and then he stands, shoving his stool back with a chalkboard jerk.

Jared doesn’t so much as flinch, and he’s whisking the eggs with one hand when he finally speaks. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Jensen raises his eyebrows even though Jared can’t see him. “I know when I’m not wanted, man.” Jensen says. “M’gonna grab my shit and head out.” Jensen keeps his head down, catches the dry ache in his throat, and he almost misses it when the bowl clatters down on granite with a startling crash.

Jared’s still not moving, and his back is hunched in on itself, hands braced on the counter.

“Jensen, so help me God, I’ll nail you to this floor if you don’t fucking start  _ talking  _ to me.” Jared’s voice is lingering in that quiet place that scares Jensen the most, and Jensen’s too perplexed to be angry.

“Talk to you about what?” Jensen says, and he crosses his arms across his chest. “Fucking turn around, then!” Jensen says, voice elevated; when he’s frightened he’s prone to yelling, and Jared frightens him most of all.

Jared’s face is closed when he turns to face Jensen, but his eyes are dew-wet, and Jensen takes a little step forward. “Jared,” Jensen begins, but Jared’s shaking his head, and Jensen tucks his mouth closed.

“Last night,” Jared begins, “you came over drunk as fuck.” Jensen nods; he remembers that part well enough. “Did I piss you off or something?” Jensen asks, and Jared crosses around the counter in one swift motion and nudges Jensen’s chin up.

“The last thing you said before you passed out was that you had a pretty mouth.” Jared spits the words onto the ground, and Jensen can feel himself lose control of his body, fine tremble lancing through bones.

Jared’s face goes from impassive to outright concerned, and he snakes an arm out in search of Jensen’s waist. 

Jensen skitters back at the motion and Jared’s face is uncovered; Jensen can see the crooked lines of his confusion. “Baby,” Jared starts, and Jensen hates himself for this, but he’s not gonna let Jared see him like that, look at him the same way Ty used to.

“Sweetheart,” Jared tries again, and Jensen forces himself to remain still. “Jensen, m’not gonna hurt you,” Jared says carefully, and Jensen’s already nodding before Jared gets the sentence out. 

“I know that,” Jensen says, and Jared’s silent for a second. 

“Can you tell me what happened, then?” Jared asks, and Jensen sighs heavily. “There any chance you’ll let this go?” Jensen says, and Jared squints, mouth taut. 

“Not a chance in Hell,” Jared says, and he crosses his arms, leans back onto the support of the countertop. 

“Yesterday while I was at work, I was with my boss and Sir--Jeff showed up.” Jensen rushes through the words and quickly holds Jared in place with two hands when he rises away from the counter in burgeoning anger.

“Then what.” Jared says stiffly, and Jensen thinks, somehow, he might have underestimated Jared’s malevolence toward Jeff.

“He was comin’ to meet with Collins, but his meeting was right after mine and he showed up early.” Jensen shrugs but Jared doesn’t move an iota, and Jensen barely refrains from rolling his eyes.

“He told me it was good to see me again,” Jensen says, and pauses. Jared’s arms are corded with the strain of holding himself back, and Jared doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response.

This next part is the worst--and Jensen’s well-aware that it’s only because he’s got a plethora of issues. 

“Look, Jared, he said that he’s glad we’ve been working together all these years, and that--and that my mouth was prettier than he imagined.” Jensen suffers through his big revelation and wonders when Jared’s gonna start laughing at him.

Jared’s motionless for a long second and then he’s skirting around Jensen with a fluidity that Jensen can only envy. 

“Motherfucker,” Jared says suddenly, and Jensen halts from his, rather slow, progress in Jared’s direction. 

“Jen, next time you see him, call me, okay?” Jared says, and he turns so abruptly that Jensen knocks into his broad chest. Jensen arches an eyebrow. “I did, you ass,” Jensen says, and he doesn’t mean to be antagonistic, but Jeff makes him uncomfortable and Jared’s not giving him any information to the contrary.

Jared nods though, and he cups a warm palm around the nape of Jensen’s neck. 

“You did. You did.” Jared says. “An’ that’s my fault.” Jared pauses, and he looks somewhere above Jensen’s head. 

“I need you to trust me. Just stay away from him.” Jared says, and Jensen squints for a second before he propels himself backwards.

Jared’s already reaching for him, but Jensen slaps his hands down with a resounding crack.

“No, you don’t get to do that anymore,” Jensen says. “I fucking told you about him even though I didn’t want to.” Jensen’s quickly seeing red, and Jared seems to sense that, keeps his distance.

“I gotta work with the guy--I been working with him for years.” Jensen’s fists are punch-tight at his sides and Jared’s gaze flits over him calmly.

“He fucking--he fucking makes me feel like shit and if he’s like--a fucking killer I deserve to know.” Jensen runs a hand through his hair; it’s already bed-messy and Jared  _ knows _ he’s insane now.

Jared’s grinning though, and that only serves to piss Jensen off further. 

“I wanna talk to you about it Jensen,” Jared says carefully. “But I can’t do that right now.” Jared fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt, uncharacteristic in its insecurity. “But I will.” Jared says. “I promise.”

Jensen’s already shaking his head, panic welling up in his mouth at everything he’s told Jared and the lack of reciprocation.

“I can’t do this right now Jared.” Jensen says, and he’s startled to see fright in Jared’s eyes. Jensen turns toward the front door before Jared can reach him with tentacle-arms and drag him back into that net that Jensen seeks out, every time.

“You come find me when you can talk about it, then.” Jensen says, and he can hear Jared’s footfalls, firm slaps of bare-feet on hardwood.

“Jensen. Jensen, don’t be like this,” Jared says, and Jensen’s hand closes around the doorknob. 

“Don’t come after me.” Jensen says, and it’s the worst lie he’s ever told.

-

Chad’s out grabbing dinner when the doorbell rings.

Jared’s on mile five of what’s shaping up to be a brutal eight, and he’s got The Chronic playing on a self-deprecating loop in the background.

Jared’s a runner, always has been, and it teeters over into obsession when he’s pissed or just plain confused.

The only reason he hears the bell is because it’s accompanied by a rather strong set of knocks, and what sounds like a woman screaming.

Jared spreads his legs in a V and jumps, landing on the stationary sides of the machine. He pauses his mileage dutifully and drags his shirt backwards over top of his head. He slings the wet fabric around his neck in lieu of having anything else to do with it.

The knocks increase in frequency as he jogs down the stairs and he spares a moment of terror for the fact that it might be Lauren. 

He’s looking through the peephole when it registers that Lauren doesn’t have red hair, nor does she ever scream at this particular volume.

Jared’s opening the door against his better judgement and the barrel of hair and attitude knocks right past him and into the foyer of his house.

Jared’s heart rate is still on treadmill time, but he can see that this is the infamous Danneel, but how she came to be on his doorstep at seven in the evening is beyond him.

“Danneel?” Jared says inquisitively, and she’s got her arms crossed now. She doesn’t look as angry as she did when he first saw her, in fact her eyes are kind of glazed over.

“Oh Jesus Christ,  _ this  _ is what he left behind?” Danneel says, and Jared glances down at himself self-consciously. “What?” He says, and she unfolds her arms to tap thoroughly at his chest.

“My God, is this even  _ real?” _ She says, and Jared’s mouth quirks up as he realizes what’s going on. Whatever, if Jensen’s slightly-unhinged best friend needs to fondle him to get him back in Jensen’s good graces; he’ll drop his running shorts right now.

“Jensen’s at my place,” Danneel begins absently, “probably naked in my bed, watching Criminal Minds, when you’re over here, lookin’ like this?” Danneel says, but Jared’s brain is stuck on a loop of ‘Jensen’s naked.’

“He’s naked?” Jared asks stupidly, and then, to really shove the nail in his coffin, “he’s there alone, right?” 

Danneel steps back reluctantly, and serves him a cute little pout. 

Her hair is tumbled down her shoulders and she’s dressed almost exactly like him, yellow Nike t-shirt and spandex capris. With the little he knows about her; he wouldn’t be surprised if she just ran straight here.

“You’re hot as  _ fuck,  _ but you’re both dumb as shit,” Danneel starts, and Jared takes the opportunity to take her by the elbow and guide her into the kitchen.

She hops up onto a barstool, spinning the dark-brown wood to comfortably fit her height.

“Look,” she says, steepling her fingers underneath her chin, “Jensen’s been fucked over a lot.” Danneel is matter-of-fact but possessive in the telling, and Jared ducks into his fridge for a bottle of orange juice.

“I know,” Jared says slowly, knocks some gatorade out of the way to reach the champagne in the back. It’s Dom  Pérignon, and he and Chad won it in some high-stakes poker game in Vegas a few months back.

Chad’s better with vintage wines than he is, but Jared doesn’t think Chad’ll mind if they use it for a good cause.

Jared hefts the weight of the bottle in his hands and prays that Danneel comes to like him, because her friendship is not about to come cheap.

“Mimosa?” Jared asks, holding both ingredients aloft for her inspection.

Danneel looks neat and composed at his table, nails of one hand steadily clicking against granite. She’s toying with the wooden coasters Jared’s mama sent and Jared feels like he’s on Say Yes to the Dress.

“Hell yeah,” Danneel says, and she politely drags a coaster in front of her in anticipation of her glass. 

Jared busies himself gathering the glassware, and he mixes the drinks while keeping one eye on Danneel’s countenance. She’s not looking at him; she’s surveying Jared’s spice rack, of all things.

Jared’s seized with the sudden desire to scan the seasonings to ensure he has everything that Danneel might like, and he keeps his hand steady as he passes her glass over.

She tilts hers in his direction and tosses the entire thing back, and Jared can’t help it; he chokes on the small sip he’d managed.

Danneel grins at him and runs her thumb along the rim.

“S’not every day a girl gets made a drink by The King,” Danneel says, and Jared leans one elbow on the counter.

Alright, if that’s how she wants to play it.

Jared’s emptied the contents of his mimosa in two seconds and he snags Danneel’s out of her hand in one motion.

“If Jay hasn’t told you about Ty yet then I’m not gonna,” Danneel says, and Jared nods, third drink in the works.

“I don’t wanna know anything he’s not ready to tell me,” Jared says, and he’s shocked at the level of honesty in his voice. 

Danneel looks at him strangely, and then she slams her glass back down, on the coaster, of course.

“Good shit,” she grins, and nudges Jared with a closed fist. “Don’t push him,” she says softly, and Jared ducks his head as he adds a bit more Dom than he’s been doing before.

Danneel’s looking at her hands when she speaks again, and her voice is stilted. “He was--he was in bad shape when he broke up with his ex,” she says, and Jared’s squeezing his drink so tightly he hears the telltale crack of glass.

He’s been known to shatter things due to a lack of knowledge of his own strength, and he chugs the liquid before setting the cup far away from himself.

“People--” Danneel pauses and then tugs her hair up in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. “M’not drunk enough for this,” she mutters, and then tucks her legs underneath her on the stool.

“People treat Jay a certain way ‘cause of how he looks.” Danneel’s eyes are hard, like she’s daring Jared to contradict her.

“He’s good with it, for the most part--cause he’s such an ass,” Danneel says fondly, “but he can’t take that kinda shit from anyone he likes.”

Danneel grabs the Tropicana and pours a smattering into the bottom of her glass.

“He really likes you Jared.” Danneel’s face is stark right now, and Jared suddenly doesn’t feel worthy of this honesty, this fragility of a new relationship that he’s clearly on the brink of fucking up.

“I don’t--” Jared says, and he reaches for the Dom only for Danneel to jerk it out of his reach. She pours her glass half-full of the rose-colored liquid and gestures at him, using the bottle.

“Keep going,” she commands, and Jared bites down a grin. 

“I don’t wanna hurt him,” Jared admits, “but I’m not good with gentle. I need him and I want him and he’s special and all I know is that I gotta keep him.” Jared shakes his hair, and the still-damp strands tickle his cheeks. 

“I’ll burn the world up for him,” Jared says, low enough that he hopes Danneel doesn’t hear him. “And I don’t know what to do with that.”

When Jared chances a look up, Danneel’s hands are covering her mouth and Jared rockets up from his sprawled position on the counter.

It’s then that he remembers how wet and generally disgusting he is, and he wrinkles his nose in revulsion.

“Christ Danneel, coulda told me I smelled like a fucking sewer,” Jared teases, if only to rid the room of that cloud-dense atmosphere.

“Call me Danni,” Danneel’s saying, arms braced on her hips, and Jared rotates quickly at the sound of a key scratching at his front door.

Jared’s eyes are wide when he turns back around to face Danni, and she just looks mildly befuddled. 

“Look--” Jared starts, whips his soaked shirt off of his neck to brandish as some sort of Chad-repellent, but he doesn’t get farther than that before Chad’s voice echoes throughout every crevice of Jared’s home.

“Motherfucker,” Chad hollers, and he comes stumbling into the kitchen weighted down by what  _ has  _ to be more than Chinese food. 

Chad’s frozen for one second when he catches sight of the room, Jared shirtless, in an unnecessarily defensive position, Danni enthroned on her seat, head resting in one hand. 

“Danni!” He says, cheeky grin a mile wide. Chad steps around Jared to deposit the bags down on the table, heavy grunt of effort.

“I see you been thinking about my offer,” Chad says amicably, and Danni’s pretty face scrunches up in utter horror.

She jerks her head away from her hand and sits up, ramrod straight.

“I am  _ not  _ putting my mouth anywhere near that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a sick day, so I wanted to give you guys something early. I'm just dying in my disease-infested bed, so float me your thoughts/theories/likes/dislikes.   
> I'm so here for it.


	8. Chapter 8

Danni looks smug as hell when Jensen opens his eyes the next morning, confused as fuck because he’d woken up convinced that he worked in Quantico, dividing his time between unsubs and Derek Morgan’s dick.

She couldn’t look more self-satisfied than if she were actually drinking tea right now, and Jensen’s already checked twice to see if she hasn’t restocked the Earl Grey in her cabinets.

“What?”

Jensen says, grogginess forcing his words out thickly. Danni shrugs, goes back to painting her toenails on the edge of her own bed.

“Danneel. What did you do.” Jensen doesn’t have the time for this, and his head is absolutely killing him. Danni didn’t have anything but Angry Orchard, and, desperate times and all that.

He thinks that she just likes to watch him suffer; she knows how wild he gets with just a hint of syrupy alcohol in his system. 

His mouth tastes like he just rimmed Willy Wonka for an hour or so, and he’s not pleased.

“Jensen,” Danni mimics, voice reaching that register of utter annoyance. “Nothing that you won’t be kissing my ass for later, so shut up.”

Jensen groans theatrically and flops back down onto her pillows. “Is this goose-down?” Jensen says absently, rubs his hair on the sheets firmly, in the hopes that she’ll find strands of him everywhere after this.

“What the fuck even is goose-down?” Jensen asks, and Danni’s unhelpful, only snorts at the head of the bed.

“Bean, you’re still drunk,” she says absently, and Jensen doesn’t even have the heart (or strength) to protest the use of the fond nickname.

“Jared called you,” Danni says, smooth in that knowing way. Jensen sits up so quickly he almost vomits, grabs ahold of her peach-pit sheets and lurches in place, violent roil of his head.

“Did you answer?” Jensen asks, and Danni holds her left foot out in front her in disdain. Her toes are lavender, and Jensen can’t tell if they’re supposed to shine that way, or if he’s just having trouble distinguishing reality.

“Nope,” Danni says, motioning to Jensen’s phone. Jensen’s learned his lesson by now; he turns to Danni’s nightstand in slow-motion, and Danni snorts behind him at his suffering.

“You got a few other calls too,” Danni says mysteriously, but Jensen ignores her. 

He breathes through the crest of nausea and knocks his Iphone into his lap. He squints down at his fingerprint ID and sees that Danni isn’t lying; he’s got twelve missed calls and they’re majority from Jared.

He opens his messages warily, criss-crossed in bed, his underwear flung somewhere across the room; he gets hot when he’s drunk, so what?

_ I’m sorry I didn’t talk about it _

then

_ It’s just complicated, but you’re right, I did ask you some shit you weren’t ready to tell me _

and

_ Jensen. Please pick up baby _

_ I’m sorry I’m callin so much. I know you’re at Danni’s _

_ I’m fucking worried. I get worried about you and I know it’s probably annoying as shit _

_ Jesus Christ Jensen just lemme know you’re alive _

Jensen fumbles with his phone in a panic, frightened flush passing over his face. “Fuck. Fuck Danni,” Jensen says and Danni spins to face him, toes separated by that painful looking sponge implement.

“You didn’t call him back at all?” Jensen wails and Danni’s eyebrows touch her hairline. “Excuse the fuck outta me, Mr-Don’t-Talk-To-My-Big-Dicked-Boyfriend-Without-My-Express-Permission!” Danni yells, her voice two octaves higher than it was at the start.

Jensen’s abruptly angry; he’s got no right to be, and usually, a sentence like that would have him doubled over in laughter.

“Not like that ever stopped you before,” Jensen hurls back, maintains as much of his dignity as he can while still naked.

“You’re always fucking doing this shit,” Jensen continues, and Danni’s gone pale, striking in her round face. Her eyes are sun-kiss brown and they seem too large for her face, swollen with disbelief.

“You never let me fucking--” Jensen grips his hair with both hands, rocks back against Danni’s headboard. 

“I can fucking do this. I can do this.” Jensen says calmly, and the shift in tone floors even him. “I can be with Jared or I can not be with him, but I gotta do it myself.” Jensen regrets the words as soon as they come out; he loves Danni, probably more than is sane or healthy, but he can’t use her like a crutch.

Danni’s focused on her hands, and Jensen can see the white-blush of no-color in her ears, stain of shame.

“Dan, I love you, I just don’t want it to be like that.” Jensen doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but now they’ve got him backed into a corner; he’s not built for this.

Danneel’s shaking her head and standing, and Jensen can’t shake the feeling that he’s really fucked up this time.

“I get it,” Danni says, but she won’t look at him and her voice is flat. She’s never flat. Danni’s an explosion of colors, graceful and malevolent in equal turns, and she’s nothing but unmarred plain right now.

Jensen rockets up with that thought, heedless of his nudity. Danni’s seen him worse before, especially after that last break-up.

“M’gonna go for a run,” she says, strides out of the room into the small entrance to her apartment. She keeps five pairs of Nike running shoes here, says they stink up the place otherwise. 

“Danni, baby,” Jensen tries, and he’s so fucking sick of this, of being off and weird to the people that love him best.

“Save all that for Jared honey,” Danni says half-heartedly, and Jensen glances down at his soft dick and grins. “Yeah, okay Mary,” Jensen says and when Danni laughs it almost sounds natural. 

“Mary Magdalene,” they both say in unison, and even though Danni’s still lacing up her shoes she’s smiling down at herself.

Jensen knows she needs her space; God knows she gives Jensen enough of it, so he doesn’t push, allows her to pull her hair up in a messy bun over top of her head.

“Bean,” she says seriously, and Jensen could cry, because that means all is forgiven, and he really honestly needs Danni in his corner at all times.

Jensen slaps his hands on his hips and swings his dick in a lewd semi-circle, just to see her fond face of disgust. “I don’t know how Jared can stand to touch you,” Danni mutters, and then she straightens, eyes fixated on Jensen’s face.

“Can you at least text him?” She says, and Jensen nods, confused, because what else did she expect of him? “And call home,” she says on an afterthought, hopping up and down in a minor warm-up.

“Kane called you too,” she says, and Jensen hates the smirk she gives him right before she jogs out of her front door.

-

Jensen calls Jared but it rings five times and sends him to voicemail.

He hates phone tag more than anything, so he refrains from calling seven more times. He’s basically stalling so as to not have to call Kane back, and he knows that Danni’s gonna be gone for awhile in the hopes that he can sack up and do it himself.

He’s not even scared; he’s just so not trying to be confrontational here.

“Hey,” Jensen starts after the beep, suddenly wary of what to say. “I heard you talked to Danni last night.” Jensen rubs at the back of his neck as he paces, tugs at the constriction of his shirt.

“M’sorry I left like that,” Jensen says, and he’s suddenly aware that voicemails don’t leave unlimited time. “I miss you. I just need to work through some shit on my own, and I need you to be with me on that.” Jensen pauses, unsure of where to go from here.

“Look, call me when you’re ready.” Jensen hangs up after that, and he doesn’t think that he says it as sweetly as he meant to.

Jensen shoves his phone into his pocket and stumbles into his kitchen.

He’s barely grabbed the bread from the top shelf when he hears his ringtone, and he’s excitedly dragging the button to answer before he can think, bread in one hand.

“Jare?” Jensen says, and he clips his head on the refrigerator door as he swings it open.

“Guess again sweetheart,” Jensen hears, and then he curses, partly from pain and partly from the fact that he always checks his caller ID before answering.

“Chris,” Jensen says dryly, and it’s one of those times he wishes the floor would mysteriously open and swallow him whole.

“You been avoidin’ my calls,” Chris says matter-of-factly, and Jensen can't even deny it. 

“Well I was fucked up last night so I didn't even see your calls til this morning,” Jensen says dryly, and he's glad Chris isn't here to see the color rise on his face. 

He's one of those guys. 

He has a fucking  _ type.  _

Chris’ family is big oil, filthy rich on tar and sunshine, and Jensen remembers everything about it, sixteen years old and blind in love with everything Kane had to offer. 

Except, Jensen thinks sourly; he's not exactly what the Kanes wanted to offer their son. 

It'll never be less shitty--losing his best friend like that, but on good days; Jensen likes to think he's over it. Over Kane. 

That's why he answers Kane’s calls sparingly--and around 90% of the reason that Jensen doesn't go home. 

“Did you need something?” Jensen asks, rustles the packaging on his ham so that it sounds like he's doing something. Really, he's braced up against his counter, bread tucked into his chest and he's on the verge of hyperventilating. 

The last time they talked was three months ago; Kane had told him that Jensen needed to get his head outta his damn ass, and in turn, Jensen called Kane a fucking redneck who couldn't just  _ own  _ everything he touched. 

And now they're talking like none of that happened? 

“Listen’a me Jay,” Chris starts, and Jensen’s instantly on alert. 

“What's up?” Jensen asks, wheat bread near flat. “Are you okay?” 

Jensen can't help the fault line of worry he's always got for Chris; he can't seem to shake his first love, and that's what bothers him about this whole thing with Jared--the fact that when he's with Jared everything else fades into sepia.

“Dad died last night,” Chris says, and Jensen's knees buckle beneath him, knife loss of air. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jensen says, because Chris has never been one to waste words, to even struggle with the idea of gentility. 

Chris’ voice sounds wax-cold but Jensen knows better. He also knows that Kane doesn't want Jensen’s comfort--doesn't want anything to do with Jensen period, but he can't seem to keep away. 

“Heart attack. Real fuckin’ sudden but then, not really, cause Dad ate his weight in fuckin’ beef jerky,” Chris says, and it's fond, if not completely honest. 

Mr. Kane was larger than life, and probably the only person in Chris’ entire family that Jensen could stomach. 

Chris’ dad didn't care who Chris chose to fuck, one way or the other, he just wanted to own oil, money and people, all in excess.

First time he met Jensen, he and Chris were thirteen respectively, and Jensen’s eyes were bigger than his face, violent Texan showcase of wealth, gilded stairs and an honest to God golden pisser, words of John Kane himself. 

Mr. Kane had looked at Jensen, pale-glass eyes of youth, made up of paper-machè, and he'd grinned so big Jensen thought he might've met a God. 

“Well goddamn. Chris, your mama’s gonna lose her damn mind come a few years.” 

Jensen hadn't understood what he’d meant til they turned fifteen, sweaty and tangled up in one another, heat-flush of Jensen’s virginity given to a sun-shade boy.

And now John’s dead, and Chris grew up just like his daddy, wants to handle Big Texas Oil like he was raised, keep his mama in cotton and silk like Tara. 

“Jensen?” Kane says softly, and Jensen knows he blanked, sandstorm of memories and phantom ache, but what else has Chris ever given him?

“I haven't--I haven't been home in a while,” Jensen says softly; he'd never make Chris  _ ask _ him for something like this. 

“S’just for a little bit,” Chris says, that same river-quiet timbre to his voice, like he doesn't want to startle Jensen and scare him off for good. 

“I just, I just need you there, man.” Chris asks, and Jensen knows it was hard enough for him to call, to let Jensen in when it's this personal, this abraded. 

“I'm coming.” Jensen says, instantaneous agreement, because there's no way he won’t, he’d travel all the way down to Dallas for Chris, fight or not. 

Jensen won't even be around oil, way he sees it. Most of the Kane family land is 60 out from San Antone, and Jensen’s been known to steer clear of there for years.

Mama Kane’ll be out in full regalia, and that's almost enough to deter Jensen. 

“Chris,” Jensen says doubtfully and Chris groans. 

“Jensen, my mama will not eat you.” Chris says. “She's gonna be too damn busy throwing her body all over my Daddy’s open casket to worry about you.”

Jensen chuckles, and it's a welcome feeling, shoves back that congestion of despair. 

“Shut the hell up asshole,” Jensen says, but he's already laughing; Chris has always done that for him. 

“Your mama once spanked me with a spatula, Chris,” Jensen says, and Chris’ voice is lower than it used to be, grating with manhood.

“Yeah, and then she made you pancakes with the same one she used on your ass,” Chris adds, and Jensen braces his hip against the edge of the kitchen table and crosses his arms.  

He wants to add that Mrs. Kane never hated him, not really, not until she started letting her eyes follow Chris, watched the way her boy looked over at Jensen, hooked on him like a lure. 

That's when it all started, really. 

Jensen’s never told Chris about the worst of it and he never will, but he's right to be wary. To be afraid. 

“Alright, m’coming for your Daddy so don't even think about trying to get me into any fucking trouble,” Jensen says, weak-kneed to begin with, because Chris hasn't ever been anything but trouble.

“Jay baby,” Chris says, and Jensen’s entire heart stutters in his chest, because Chris is the only one who says his name in that distinct rhythm, with that undercurrent running through it. 

“It ain't every day your Daddy dies.”

-

The only flight that’ll get Jensen to Dallas in time is today, and that’s the day before the funeral.

Jensen’s already beyond stressed; he’s got to pack and give Collins notice that he’ll be gone for a week, not to mention the fact that he has yet to talk to Jared.

Jensen decides on the lesser of three evils, calling his mother to let her know he’ll be coming into town.

She comes up to see him more often than not, dragging his reluctantly lazy father along when it suits his dad’s fancy.

Jensen’s got no issues with his family; his mother wants an HGTV program dedicated to his ‘fabulous gay life,’ and his father’s pretty much born and bred Texas, but he doesn’t treat Jensen any differently and Jensen’s always been beyond grateful for that.

So Jensen’s only mildly invested when his mother picks up, and he absently drags his fingers across his laptop keys as he selects and confirms his flight. 

“Baby?” His mother says, irritation creeping into her voice. 

Jensen knows his mother’s probably been trying to get his attention, and he grunts in apology. “Sorry Ma, m’trying to get the earliest flight home today,” Jensen says, and his mother hums in sympathy. 

“So he told you then,” she hints, and Jensen groans. “Don't start Ma. His Daddy’s dead and you know we go back.” 

Jensen bites at the side of his cuticle in thought, clips his laptop closed and pushes it into the center of the table. 

“Even before everything,” he adds, just to cut his mother off at the quick, before she delves down memory lane without him. 

“He hasn't been with anyone since you,” his mother says pointedly, and from somewhere in the background of his childhood home, Jensen hears his father groan loudly. 

“Jesus Christ Donna, cut the kid a break.” Jensen navigates his way around his living room with a smile; if anyone’ll be in his corner; he can count on his dad. 

“Big Kane’s dead and the kid needs all the support he can get.” Jensen’s dad says, and Jensen knows his mother has stalked closer, probably vibrating in righteous anger. 

“He and Jay were always close, even before all the hanky panky they got up to,” Jensen’s dad says, and Jensen snorts into his hand before he can catch himself. His dad comes on the line lightning quick, warm chuckle in lieu of hello. 

“That how you thank me for defending you?” His dad asks, and Jensen can't hold back his full-bodied laugh this time. 

“Yeah, thanks for that Dad,” Jensen appeases, and then he hears his father clear his throat. 

“Listen Jay, I don't want you to be shocked when you get down here.” His dad says, and Jensen leans into the ajar door of his closet and rolls his eyes at the idea of packing. 

“About what?” Jensen asks and he tucks the phone in between shoulder and ear as he drags his luggage from behind a rack of shoes. 

“S’gonna be big, kid.” 

Jensen stands, grabs two pairs of jeans and a pair of casual slacks and tosses them in the low end of the bag. 

“How big we talkin’,” Jensen says, and he's starting to sweat a little.  

“News is coming out. Local and national,” Jensen's dad says, and Jensen chokes a bit on his own spit. 

“Fuck that,” Jensen says, and he hears his mother in the background, “Jensen Ross!” And his father yelling back, “Woman, let the damn boy be!”

“Look,” his father comes back, slightly breathless, “the whole damn church’ll be there, and Rebecca Kane ain't never done anything half-assed in her life.” Jensen’s dad sounds salt-sour and resigned, but Jensen’s already beyond nerve-wracked. 

“Great. They having it in a church?” Jensen says, and he's grabbing five pairs of briefs at random, three long socks and five short. 

“Cathedral, actually,” his daddy says, and this time Jensen doesn't even hide his groan. 

“Well then, it'll save me the trouble of skipping out of town cause I'll burn alive soon as I step foot in the damn building,” Jensen says, and his dad roars with laughter, same way Jensen used to crave when he was younger. 

“Listen to me,” his dad says, and Jensen can hear his mother muttering in the background; he can picture her wringing her hands, top-knot of blonde. 

“Alan,” she whispers, and Jensen knows they think he's seventeen again, brittle with loss and acceptance. 

“The only person who’s burnin’ in that church tomorrow,” Alan says firmly, “is Rebecca Kane.” 

-

He calls Jared again when he's sitting on top of his bag, struggling to zip it closed. 

He's not big on over-packing; he figures he can always go shopping wherever he's headed, and he actually likes it better that way. 

He likes the idea of being able to buy new things from new places, so he usually just keeps with the essentials. 

Problem is, Dallas isn't new, and neither is Chris’ home. 

Jensen’s got to bring his absolute A game if he's going back into the fray, and he's exhausted just thinking about it. 

He’d be lying if he said that some of it wasn't geared toward seeing his ex again, but it's not like Jared’s out here being exclusive--what, with Lo and all. 

Jensen grunts as the zipper catches on a shirt or two and he hovers using only his thighs so he can dislodge the teeth. 

That's not fair, he knows; Jared’s not hiding anything from him--Jensen’s just been too chickenshit to ask outright. 

Jensen voice-dials Jared and turns him on speaker, moving his ass from the top of the luggage to sprawl his torso across instead; maybe it'll be a better distribution of weight. 

He's grunting from lack of air and exertion when Jared picks up, and it's Jared’s slightly breathless laugh that clues Jensen in to the fact that Jared’s answered. 

“Gettin’ started without me baby?” Jared asks, and Jensen tells him to shut the fuck up through gritted teeth. 

“Where’ve you been?” Jensen says, and he can hear Jared talking to someone in the background before he comes back online. 

“Sorry sweetheart, I'm at work right now.” Jared says the term loosely, steady flow of innuendo that Jensen’s more than ready to drown in. 

His stomach twists a little at Jared fucking some young, lithe twink, balls deep and possessive, and then he shrugs it off.

Jared’s got to work for a living, just like Jensen, and they haven’t exactly had the exclusivity talk yet. Jensen’s hands fumble on the small catch of the zipper as he considers Jared fucking anyone else, and Jared calls his name again.

“Jen?” He says quietly, reserves the non-nickname between the two of them. “M’here,” Jensen strains; he’s almost got the damn thing all the way shut.

“I just wanted to apologize again,” Jared says cautiously, like he still can’t tell whether or not Jensen needs this from him.

“I uh--the Jeff thing,” Jared says, “isn’t a conversation we’re having over the phone,” Jared ends firmly, and it sounds like Jared’s chewing glass, with the way he so clearly doesn’t want to discuss whatever the incident is.

Jensen’s eyes water suddenly, product of his newly acquired hormones, he thinks derisively, and he stands, glancing down at the successfully shut bag beneath him.

“That’s fine,” Jensen says, and he misses Jared, misses his laugh, the way he can sense when Jensen’s about to have a freak-out and smoothly intercepts it.

And Jensen can admit, Jared doesn’t pry into his past, but he’s always serious about whatever might be bothering Jensen in the here and now.

Jensen plasters a smile on his face for his own benefit and reaches down to sling the bag over his shoulder.

“I wanna have that talk,” Jensen says, “but an old friend of mine back in Dallas needs me to come home for a few days.” 

Jensen doesn’t want to have the Chris talk right now--if ever, because Chris hasn’t been on the map in so long he never thought that it would become an issue, something that Jensen needed to confront with whomever he ended up with.

Jensen can hear Jared’s smooth breathing on the other end, the yells of the crew and Jared’s subsequent “shut the fuck up, m’on the goddamn phone,” and then his Jared’s voice, soft consideration.

“What’s uh--are you gonna be okay?” Jared rectifies mid-sentence, and Jensen can’t help but smile, for real this time.

“His dad died, Jare, I’m going home for a week for the funeral.” Jensen doesn’t like saying it aloud like that, giving proof to the fact that Mr. Kane’s dead and that part of his life’s irrevocably shifted, but Jared needs to hear it.

“Ah Jesus, I’m sorry Jen,” Jared says, and Jensen rounds his kitchen counter to grab his wallet and ticket.

“Thanks, but I wanted you to know that I was gonna be out of town, and not cause I’m pissed, either.” Jensen’s not angry anymore, he just understands that communication needs to happen, but they won’t dissolve as a unit if it doesn’t all happen at once.

Everyone’s got a past. 

“You need me to come with you or anything?” Jared asks, sounds of the set getting louder as Jared is probably cajoled back to the scene.

“Nah,” Jensen says, locking the door with one hand.

“I’m gonna be okay. My mom’ll be cooking for me, so all I gotta do is get through the funeral.” Jensen pauses at his car door, runs his thumb over the cobalt blue finish.

_ “You _ gonna be okay without this ass, though?” Jensen teases, and Jared laughs heartily. “Probably not.” Jared admits easily, and Jensen loves that about him.

“I’m too addicted to the way your ass squeezes right--” Jensen hears a chorus of good-natured groans and he blushes, even though no one can see him. Jared’s laughing boisterously, and for a split second, Jensen considers asking Jared to come with him.

Jared comes back, still in the throes of laughter, and Jensen has to chuckle along with him. “Nice to see you’re writing good reviews about this ass,” Jensen says, and Jared’s voice mellows a bit.

“Hey, I really gotta go, but call or text when you land,” Jared says. “Or if you need me for anything.”

Jensen would be on the phone 24/7 if that were the case, but Jensen slams his door shut behind him and deposits his only bag on the seat beside him.

“I will,” Jensen promises, and then he has a wild thought. “An’ if you’re lucky, when I get back, we can make a movie of our own.”

Jared positively sputters on the other end, finesse sucked from his mouth, and Jensen hangs up in satisfaction.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your grandmother is entering the 21st century, got myself a twitter (that's all thanks to trendykitty)  
> It's a bit of a hardship to be vulgar in only 140 characters but I've always liked a challenge.  
> Hop on by @brosamigos 
> 
> Y'all already know I'm a slut for conspiracy theories, lay 'em on me.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey squad, super early chapter because I have so much on my plate this week; so hopefully all the drama will tide you over until sometime next week. Things are heating up.

Jared’s got a cameo in Chad’s film today, and he low-key regrets it every time he contracts to one. 

Chad’s his best friend in every aspect of the word, and Jared really doesn't mind standing in as Hot Nameless Stud, but he's not a rook anymore, and he hates the hang time. 

Chad’s as popular as Jared--albeit in the fetish field, and Chad lives for the buzz they get when they feature together. 

It's a standing tradition that they do so, harks back from when they were bright-eyed sixteen year olds, Jared with his too-big dick and doe eyes. 

Now Jared’s jawline could carve stone and Chad’s beefed up as much as anyone with his stature could hope to do so, and they're the golden boys of the industry. 

This still barely explains why Jared’s wearing a loincloth sewn entirely of leaves, along with an intricately carved set of horns over top his head. 

Jared’s got no qualms about being half-naked, little too late for that now, but sometimes he questions the creative liberty Chad’s allowed--just by nature of him being Chad. 

“I'm thinking, porn meets The Discovery Channel,” Chad’s saying, and Jared watches the rook blanch at Chad’s word choice.

Jared tugs one arm over his head in a wide stretch, and the twink glances from Chad to Jared in what looks like abject fear.

Jared’s all for teasing the newbie; they were all there at one time, but there’s a fine line between good natured fuckery and Chad’s entirely inadvertent psychological scarring.

Jared crosses the field in three easy strides and claps a hand against Chad’s shoulder.

Chad pauses mid-rant and glances up the inches needed to meet Jared’s eye. “Hey man,” Chad says, and Jared glances into the green eyes of the boy he’ll be fucking. The kid’s not a day over nineteen, if even, and Jared takes a good look into his face.

The kid is dark-haired, chestnut, and he comes up to Jared’s pecs, if that. Jared wants to pop Chad against the back of the head.

“What, Chad, did you put out a call for the prettiest twink they could find?” Jared says purposefully, and the kid flushes under the scrutiny.

Jared notices the kid’s subconscious reaction to his voice; years of practice. The kid’s knees lock together and Jared monitors the uncontrollable swell of the boy’s dick in his loose-fitting pants.

It’s been awhile since Jared’s gotten genuinely aroused by someone; in his line of work he can pretty much telepathically communicate with his dick.

He can will it into arousal, cool himself off with a well-timed flick of the wrist. This boy is pretty, and once upon a time, his type.

Now he’s just looking past that kid for Jensen; Jensen’s almond-summer eyes and lean body. Jared stifles a groan and glances down as his dick hardens without his express permission. Chad follows Jared’s line of sight and guffaws. 

“Grower and a shower, right here,” Chad says, slaps Jared’s slightly oiled chest with years of familiarity. It should be more strange, how close they are, but Chad’s hung off of Jared’s dick a time or ten, and they’ve managed just fine.

Jared hasn’t fucked Chad in years, but Jared knows he’s about to plow some little bottom into the salty earth beneath their feet, and it's gonna be the nature backdrop to the infamous Horse Thing.

“What’s your name?” Jared says kindly, and the kid looks up, bow of his mouth. “Brock,” the boy says, and Jared feels instantly protective. He sees Jensen in the boy’s face, maybe Jensen when he was Texas-fresh, the way Jared first remembers seeing him all those years ago.

Chad catches his eyes, and Jared knows that Chad can read him like a book. Chad hums thoughtfully and grins.

“J-squad,” Chad says, “y’know I want you like a tease in the background.” Chad nods his head in Brock’s direction.

Jared grunts in affirmation. “I don’t know why Jim gives you so much damn license over these things,” Jared questions for the umpteenth time, and Chad’s white-straight smile reminds him.

Chad’s endearing in an ugly-pretty way, and Jared tries to remember the last time he told his best friend no. 

“Cause I got a tight ass,” Chad says firmly, and Brock chokes on what looks like his own spit.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Jared says, and Chad turns swiftly, walking back to the camera crew that’s setting up on the end pocket of the field.

Jared scratches at his bare arm absently before he registers that the rook is still next to him, focused on the dirt beneath his bare feet.

Jared tips Brock’s chin up with the edge of his thumb and does his best to look non-threatening. He’s a generally friendly guy--in the bedroom he’s got a lot of pent-up aggression and a vibrant sex drive to let loose--but here, he does his best not to seem like he’s imposing.

“Round one, huh?” Jared says, and Brock chews at his bottom lip.

“I’ll be doin’ all the work, if that helps,” Jared says, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “You just gotta lie there and look pretty.”

Brock flushes up to tips of his ears, and Jared’s reminded of Jensen so strongly that he subconsciously pats himself down for his phone.

Jensen hasn’t called him yet, so he must still be in the air.

“Honestly, it’s a small part,” Jared says, trying to assuage any nerves on the kid’s end. Brock looks up and nods, takes a deep breath.

“I get that, but I didn’t think it’d be with, y’know, The King.” Brock sighs heavily, and Jared laughs. “Hey man, I piss standing up, just like you.” Jared says, and he thinks he’s probably been hanging out with Chad for too long.

“Yeah, but your dick’s closer to the toilet,” Brock says, and then he looks chagrined, small hands flying up to his mouth.

Jared doubles over at that, braces his hands on his thighs. “Ah, Jesus kid,” Jared says, swiping one hand over his eyelids. “Chad’s gonna love you.”

“Look, they already prepped you, right?” Jared asks, and Brock nods, fiddles with the drawstring of his pants.

“Then just go with whatever I do to you.” Jared says, laying one hand on Brock’s shoulder. “It’s a quick shot. Chad and I always do a few cameos and, for whatever reason, my boy wants me for this one.” Jared says.

Brock’s nodding without pause, and Jared knows from experience that nothing is gonna calm the kid down until it’s over, and he realizes that being dicked-down on camera isn’t that much different than doing it alone with a partner.

“King,” Jared hears, and it’s Jim, waving his baseball cap in the air. “Get to it. It’s a simple-bitch, Chad says rough,” Jim hollers, and Jared touches two fingers to his head in a bastard salute.

Jared turns back around to face Brock and finds that the boy has gnawed his lip down to the quick.

Jared smiles broadly and waits for lighting to arrange the modifiers to their liking. Jared motions for Brock to take his pants off, and the boy complies instantly, soft legs immediately illuminated by natural light.

Jared squints over to where Jim is standing and as soon as he receives a nod, Jared’s mouth curves into a smirk.

Brock looks taken aback, honest deer in headlights, and Jared thinks he knows why Chad wanted a rook for this scene.

Jared grabs Brock by the hips, digs his fingers into the flesh hard enough to ensure that Brock knows that he means business. The boy mewls and Jared hopes they caught the reaction. Jared spins Brock so that his back is facing Jared’s chest, and Jared knocks him off his feet with a well-placed sweep of his leg against Brock’s calves.

Brock yells at the loss of autonomy, but Jared’s still got him firmly supported. Jared lowers him to the ground firmly, but not harshly, and Brock takes his cue and braces himself on hands and knees.

Jared places big hands on the supple of Brock’s ass and spreads the cheeks wide. He’s rough with it, and Brock’s keen is probably music to Chad’s ears.

Jared can see the shining wink of Brock’s hole and that’s enough for him.

He keeps one hand steady on Brock’s hip--boy’s gonna need it--and lines his dick up. He doesn’t pause on the descent, knows that’s what Chad wants. 

Brock’s cry is completely unfettered, and Jared’s surrounded by vice-like heat. He doesn’t give the kid a second of adjustment, rears back in and out, dragging Brock off and back onto his dick in varying degrees of intensity.

Kid’s getting friction burn on his knees from the grass, but his mouth is open on a pant, and the pornstar in Jared likes that. Likes knowing it’s because of him.

Jared can see Jim in the background, about to give him the all clear, and then Brock stutters in his grasp and comes on a particularly hard thrust. Jared holds the kid upright when Brock sags completely in his arms, ass clenching around Jared’s like a snake.

_ Fuck,  _ Jared thinks, and he brings himself back from the unexpected edge.

He’s grateful when Jim calls cut and he gingerly pulls out of Brock. The kid tested clean and Jared almost never goes bareback, but he’s still not about to come in Brock’s ass. It’s a cameo, short and sweet, and Jared can tell that the boy’s embarrassed about coming.

Jared helps him up, one hand to his elbow, and Brock angles his face down and away. “We’ll have to cut that one out during editing,” Jim hollers, and Jared winces when Brock flushes even deeper.

“Hey, don’t sweat it man,” Jared says, and he slings an arm around Brock’s shoulder. “I came like, point two after I fucked someone on camera for the first time.” Jared shrugs, leaning down to wipe the grass from his shin.

“And hey,” Jared says, “you got to come, right?” 

Brock ducks his head lower and laughs, brushing Jared’s arm, and Jared’s pretty pleased with himself.

-

Jensen hates Texan heat.

He hates everything about this damn state these days, and he can’t find one redeeming quality except for the fact that his mama lives here.

Jensen’s got his phone up and in his hand as soon as he slings his bag over one shoulder. 

He also hates DFW.

Airports in general, but this one reminds him of JFK except it’s sweltering, and there’s nothing pleasant about this day.

Jared picks up on the second ring, and it makes Jensen smile to think that Jared was waiting for his call. 

“You still at work,” Jensen asks, tightly navigating through the cesspool of people to make it to where his parents usually wait for him.

Jared sounds like he’s smiling and Jensen shakes his head fondly. “Yeah but now I’m just here to be Chad’s personal cheerleader,” Jared says, and Jensen shudders.

“Is he--is it The Horse Thing,” Jensen whispers, like anyone will be able to hear with the cacophony around him. 

Jensen shoves his index in his free ear in order to hear Jared better and all he gets for his efforts is the whistling sound of Jared’s laughter.

“Yeah baby, he’s doing The Horse Thing,” Jared croons, and Jensen rolls his eyes and narrowly avoids body-checking an older woman out of his way.

“How is that legal,” Jensen mutters to himself, and he can hear Jared talking to someone in the background. 

“You doing okay?” Jared asks seriously, and Jensen’s about to tell him that he can’t even think about Big Kane being dead when he’s literally trying to Sparta-fight his way to the exit, when he catches sight of his name on a big strip of paper.

Ackles, it reads, and Jensen’s flummoxed. “What the hell,” he mutters, and he hears Jared ask him what’s up, but now he’s consumed with getting closer.

It’s not until he’s almost on top of the sign that he realizes a driver is holding it.

“Oh no. Fuck no,” Jensen says, and Jared’s voice has become rather insistent in his ear. 

Chris steps out from behind the shadow of his driver and smiles, a sultry-sweet thing. His hair is tied back in a careful ponytail, and he’s holding his cowboy hat in both hands, the same way he’d done when he’d asked Jensen on a date for the first time.

Jensen’s phone creaks in his hand.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Chris says, and Jensen’s fucked. 

-

“No J, you don’t need to fly to Dallas right the fuck now.” 

Jared presses his head into his hands and slouches back further into the passenger seat of Chad’s Jeep.

“You didn’t hear him, though,” Jared tries, and Chad shifts uncomfortably in his seat; he’s always awkward after a scene.

“Dude,  _ you  _ probably didn’t even hear him, he was in the fucking middle of DFW,” Chad says, and then he merges into the other lane without using his signal, prompting a chorus of horns from behind them.

“Dude,” Jared says half-heartedly; he can’t concentrate on Chad’s reckless driving when Jensen rushed him off the phone saying that it was ‘really hectic’ and ‘he needed to get home.’

Jared’s never been insecure when he’s sure that someone likes him. He’s got issues with relationships in general, but he’s always been good when he knows that the other person likes him back.

Right now he’s not sure about anything, especially with the utter confusion in Jensen’s voice when he’d hung up.

“I pissed him off though, before he left,” Jared tries, and then he’s grabbing onto the oh-shit handle above his window in a panic.

Chad veers roughly toward an exit he clearly should have let pass them by, and scrapes off-road in his successful attempt to get off.

“Jesus Christ Chad, I’m fucking confused, not suicidal,” Jared says, one hand braced on the dash.

Chad’s grinning though, the wide smile of the criminally insane, Jared thinks, and he’s steering them toward the In-N-Out drive-through.

Jared shouldn’t be shocked at anything, not this late in the game, but he still clips Chad upside the back of the head when they rocket past a suburban to take third place in line.

Jared’s heart is still a little elevated, even though it’s nowhere close to as much danger as Chad’s put them in before.

“There’s easier ways to kill us Chad,” Jared complains, just because he’s in the mood to do so. “Food here’s gonna do the job regardless, so you didn’t need to pull a Toretto,” Jared finishes, feeling significantly better.

Chad taps his hands out on the steering wheel with a smile.

“That mean you aren’t hungry then,” Chad asks, and Jared doesn’t honor him with a look. “Hell no,” Jared says, drumming his fingers on his thighs.

“4 x 4 with onions--” Jared starts, but then Chad interrupts, “Cheddar instead of American,” Chad continues, and Jared finally sinks back into his seat, legs a loose sprawl before him.

The auto-tuned voice on the other end directs them to drive to the next window, and it slides open for them as Chad digs around for his wallet. 

“Just a big-ass bitch baby,” Chad says with a grin, smiling congenially at the cashier. The girl blinks at the two of them, slow blush stealing across her face, and Jared’s suddenly aware that his shirt is slung carelessly around his neck.

“You took this big-ass dick though,” Jared shoots back and their cashier audibly chokes on her next words.

“W-will that be all for you?” She stutters, and Jared feels horrible; he’s programmed to have a sharp comeback for Chad when at all possible, and sometimes he forgets he has an audience.

“That’s all for me,” Chad says winningly. “I don’t think my big-dicked brethren needs anything else, either.” Chad says, and the girl is laughing even as she fumbles the window closed.

Jared’s chuckling behind his hand even as he tries to glare at his best friend, and Chad rises halfway out of his seat with a groan.

“Pass me the donut, man,” Chad whines, and Jared leans back slightly to reach in the backseat for the cushion. Chad grunts as he lifts himself up with only the aid of his arms and Jared slides the donut underneath Chad’s ass.

Chad immediately sighs in satisfaction and Jared shoves one hand into his hair.

It’s gonna be fine.

-

Jensen wonders if it’s childish to sit on the exact opposite side of the limousine. 

Also, who comes to pick up their ex/childhood best friend in a limo, anyway? 

Jensen can’t say he’s surprised; Chris has always been a man of big words and bigger actions. Jensen lost his virginity underneath a star-lit sky.

There were candles too, if he remembers correctly.

Jensen glances down at his palms with a world-weary sigh. His life was so much less complicated during that stint when he was single.

Chris balances his Stetson against the back of his head and smiles, heavy and sweet. It’s not the same smile that Jensen recalls, but he can’t tell if that’s due to the fact that they’re older now, more battered, or if it’s the fact that Chris has lost his father.

Jensen figures it’s a combination. 

“Jay,” Chris begins, and Jensen grunts.

“M’real glad you came,” Chris says, and Jensen nods.

“Now I know you know damn well how to talk, so I suggest you start,” Chris says, and his voice inches up an octave in that typical Kane fashion.

“There’s the boy I fell in love with,” Jensen says dryly, and Chris looks hard at him, face brittle.

“We really startin’ out like that?” Chris asks, and Jensen just barely refrains from balling his hands into fists.

They’re not. They shouldn’t, not with Big Kane barely warm in his grave. It’s up to Jensen to play it cool, because Chris is emotionally compromised.

_ How’re them big school words treating you? _

Jensen chuckles at the surprise sound of Jared’s voice in his head, and he relaxes into the seat. Jensen unbuttons the top button of his western-style shirt and sighs.

“Nah, we’re not.” Jensen says, and all the fight drains out of Chris, just like that. It’s the lowest Jensen’s ever seen him, and it twists something up ugly within to watch it happen.

“He just uh--Mama’s been crying for days,” Chris says, twists his hands up into each other. Jensen scoots closer on instinct, spreads one palm on Chris’ thigh.

“You gotta get outta the house,” Jensen says, and Chris grins up at him. Jensen hadn’t noticed the red-rim of his eyes, and he berates himself for it now. 

This isn’t about whatever he and Chris used to be.

“You remembered,” Chris said, and Jensen’s hand feels cumbersome from where he’s lain it. “All words and no action,” Jensen says dully. Chris is a problem solver, doesn’t like to be coddled.

“You been out there?” Jensen asks, turning away slightly so he can glance out the window. 

He hasn’t been to Westlake in a long time; his parents were never anywhere close to wealthy enough to own land here, and Chris is the only reason he’s ever been in the town.

Jensen lives in greater Dallas, and he knows that his mom set him up--probably without his father’s knowledge. She was supposed to come pick him up, but she probably knew that Chris would jump at the chance.

And now they’re headed toward Vaquero, and Jensen always feels like he’s in a really well-cared for prison when the gates of the club close behind them.

Jensen’s never been as comfortable around big southern money as Chris. Then again, Jensen didn’t grow up like that.

Jensen controls his breathing as they get closer, streamlined trees and rolling-rock grass.

Chris moved up to Westlake from further out past San Antone, and from Jensen’s knowledge, the guy has never looked back.

“Jay?” Chris asks, and Jensen peels his gaze back from the glass.

“Yeah?” 

“I was sayin’ that I ain’t been. I don’t go without you. Not anymore.” Chris says it all in a low voice, and he’s not looking up at Jensen, like he’s scared of what he’ll find there.

Jensen smiles and braces himself up, same way he’s always done for Chris.

The limo comes to a slow halt, and Chris’ house is just as imposing as it used to be, long and sprawling across acres. It’s more brown than beige these days, and there seems to be construction on the guest house, but it still gives Jensen pause.

“We’ll ride out,” Jensen says firmly, and Chris reaches for his hand.

-

Jared’s grilling out when Chad gets back to the house. He’d gone out for emergency beer, and, if Jared’s lucky, Chad hasn’t started drinking it on the drive back. They’re in the last dregs of summer and the football season is starting up again.

Jared’s die-hard for the Cowboys, even though he’s got a personal shrine dedicated to the untimely death of Tony Romo huddled in the corner of his closet.

It’s for that reason he, Chad and a couple of other guys are getting together tonight, and Jared can finally give a proper goodbye to his grill, even though there will probably be more warm days left than not.

Jared’s whistling to himself when he remembers that today is the funeral.

He’d talked to Jensen last night, and even though Jensen had seemed pretty distracted; he’d apologized for yesterday.

He’d seen his friend at the airport when he hadn’t expected to, and what the hell are you supposed to say to someone who has just lost a parent?

Jared had understood that; he’s good with people, but he doesn’t think he would’ve been able to catch a curveball like that.

He’s a little addicted to the idea of Jensen texting him, and he scans his phone for the fourth time. There’s nothing there, but Jared’s not really surprised, or even that angry.

Jensen’s gotta be there for his friend, and that’s what counts.

“Hey!” Jared hollers as he walks toward his open back door, two platters resting delicately on his palms, “little help?” Chad wheels around the corner in record time, snatching one covered plate from Jared and setting it on the counter.

“Nice to see you’re helpful when food’s involved,” Jared teases, and grins. “What can I say. I’m a giver.” Chad says. “Giver of love, of good dick--” Jared punches Chad lightly in the arm and points at the television.

“Are you on the right channel?” Jared asks, and Chad spins around to squint at the screen. “I dunno. Probably not, it’s on CNN.” Chad says.

Chad’s already headed toward the living room to change it when Jared leans in closer. “Wait a sec,” Jared says, and then he’s rounding the corner of the open kitchen, hip-checking the barstool in his rush.

“Turn that up,” Jared says absently, and Chad manually does so, quizzical look in Jared’s direction.

“On a more melancholy note, we have live footage from the funeral procession at the Cathedral of the Virgin of Guadalupe, in Dallas, Texas. Rachel?”

Jared squats next to the screen and he can feel Chad’s eyes on him.

The camera shifts to what appears to be thousands upon thousands of people gathered outside of the cathedral.

“As you can see, the crowd is eerily silent, in honor of the oil giant more commonly known as, ‘Big Kane,’ to his numerous friends and family,” the anchorwoman begins.

“Family and close friends will be entering first--’” she says, narrating as a tight-knit group of people exit a polished black car. “And as you can see, we have Mr. Kane’s widow, who is followed closely by her son Christian, the heir to the family--” Jared loses feeling in his legs, and his ears buzz out sometime around then.

It’s at that moment that he catches sight of Jensen’s ducked head, the way that Christian Kane’s arm is curled tightly around Jensen’s waist.

The screen flicks back to world news, appropriately brief segment on an apparently revered man, and Jared’s standing, a stranger to his own body.

Chad’s face is bone-raw when Jared finally looks into it, and his best friend is already shaking his head.

“No. J-man. No.” Chad says, but Jared’s already walked past him, eyes fixed on nothing but making his way upstairs to his closet.

There’s nothing but silence as Jared rips open the door to his room, and he hears Chad abruptly yell, none too quietly.

“Jesus fucking Christ Jared, are we takin’ your car to the airport or mine?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow ya girl over on tumblr @brosamigos


	10. Chapter 10

Rebecca Kane doesn’t look at Jensen once during the entire ceremony, and Jensen can’t tell if that’s because she’s biding her time, or she’s honestly solely focused on her dead husband.

Jensen would really rather it be the latter, but he’s grown up around Mrs. Kane, and he knows how she operates.

Chris is holding his hand way tighter than any man in a Texan cathedral has the right to do, but everyone has long since known that the only child of the Kanes is gay.

Jensen also knows that Chris needs this right now, but he can’t help but feel young and in love again, caught up in Chris’ summer-lies.

He misses that most of all.

He misses just having Chris as a person.

He half wishes he’d taken Jared up on his offer to come with--but he also doesn’t think he could have handled two hot-blooded Texans in the same room together.

Jensen has a hard enough time keeping Chris on the up and up, when Chris is intent on causing as much mayhem as he possibly can.

Right now Chris has to deliver a eulogy, and as much as Chris likes to hear himself talk; he’s never been good with the personal shit.

“You gotta come up with me.” Chris whispers, and Jensen quickly covers his mouth to stifle the snort of utter disbelief.

“Excuse my language,” Jensen says tightly, “but  _ fuck  _ that.” Jensen has to draw a hard line somewhere, and this seems as good a place as any.

“Jay,” Chris hisses, and they’re in the front row; the priest is quite literally hovering above them on the fixed altar, feet facing east while Big Kane’s feet face the altar itself.

Jensen hasn’t exactly been a practicing Catholic in several years now, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t remember every ritual. 

They’d followed Mr. Kane’s coffin on foot, as is traditional, until the crowds had prevented them from coming any further. They’d been driven the rest of the way, and Chris had kept a tight hold on Jensen’s waist, even under the relative disapproval of his mother.

“Jensen,” Chris says, and Jensen pinches his hand when Chris fails to recite the liturgy on cue. 

_ Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine _

Jensen says, and Chris is dutifully following along, neck flushed crimson. “Look,” Jensen says, properly chastised for having been insensitive to Chris, “I’ll come, alright?” Jensen turns his head heavenward with a grimace.

“I’ll burst into flames on the altar,” Jensen mutters, “but I’ll come.”

-

“Jared,” Chad huffs, bouncing his backpack higher up on his body, “can you fucking slow down?”

Jared nods an apology down to the woman he barreled into and shuffles sideways through the throng of people.

“We slow down we miss the flight,” Jared says, glancing behind him to see whether or not Chad is keeping up. Chad’s used to stumbling after Jared’s long strides, and he doesn’t disappoint now, muttering apologies to the carnage in his wake.

“He’s not gonna like,  _ leave  _ Texas in the time it takes to fly there,” Chad says irritably, and it makes Jared laugh in spite of himself.

“Well yeah,” Jared admits, “but that’s that much more time for that motherfucker to touch the wrong guy,” Jared says.  “Best friend my ass,” Jared mutters to himself.

Jared steers them into the proper checkpoint line and hopes to God he didn’t pack his razor again on accident.

He nudges Chad to preemptively remove his shoes, and he tosses everything into the grey container on the conveyor belt. Jared’s unhooking his watch when he hears a squeal from behind him.

Chad stiffens at the sound, and Jared knows that Chad recognizes it for what it is.

“Can I--are you--” Jared hears, and he just barely refrains from rolling his eyes up to the LAX ceiling.

“Ladies,” Jared says, turning around with a broad smile on his face.

Chad, the motherfucker, slaps his ass on the sly.

-

Jensen’s arm almost comes loose from its socket with the way that Chris jerks him up when the Priest motions for Chris to ascend the altar.

Jensen glances out into the crowd to find his parents, and he catches sight of his Dad’s face without glimpsing his mom.

His father’s countenance is blank, but Jensen would recognize the wire-line of his mouth anywhere. His father is displeased, and more than a little perturbed at the fact that Jensen seems to be permanently attached to Chris’ side.

Jensen doesn’t dare search out Rebecca’s face, because he’s pretty sure he’d lose what’s left of his  lunch.

Chris is holding his Stetson in two trembling fingers, and that’s enough to stabilize Jensen. Chris tugs at his pinstripe tie, loosening it even further from his neck.

“My Daddy,” Chris begins, off-beat, and pulls Jensen closer into himself, “My Daddy was rude as hell.” This prompts a chorus of good-natured laughter from the assembled, and Jensen thinks that’s just what Chris needs right now.

“The man installed a solid gold toilet in our house when I was thirteen,” Chris says fondly, and Jensen can feel the dagger-slice of Chris’ fingers into his side.

“It’s true, first time I ever saw God while takin’ a piss,” Jensen says, and he’s  _ horrified.  _ Chris laughs so loudly that Jensen can feel the racehorse clip of his own heart, and the cathedral chuckles even harder than they had when Chris had first made his own  joke.

It’s Chris’ turn to comfort Jensen, which he does subtly, running one broad palm along the small of Jensen’s back.

“Dad always gave out silver dollars like candy,” Chris says, and it’s introspective; Jensen knows for a fact that Chris didn’t prepare anything; he couldn’t see far enough past his grief. 

“When I got older, started turning into 50 dollar bills and a pack of Magnums,” Chris says with a lewd wink, and Jensen knows his face is wine-flushed. Only the Kane family could get away with such blatant blasphemy; there's not a person in the whole state that doesn't know and love them.

Jensen hears Chris’ mama sigh with fond disapproval, but he knows that only extends to Chris. 

“My Daddy always told me you get what you give.” Chris says, and Jensen gasps as little as Chris strengthens his grasp. 

“We uh--we, every other weekend we volunteered at Dallas Life,” Chris says, “an’ for those of y’all who don't know, stop by for a visit, I think they'd be happy to see some of you.” Chris scratches at the nape of his neck and Jensen just wants to hug him close. 

“He was never someone I woulda crossed, but I knew he had my back, even if’n it was my fault,” Chris says, “and it usually was,” Chris adds. 

“What happened to him, it was real sudden, and I--the thing is--” Chris says, and Jensen can feel Chris’ body lock up beside his, and Jensen just  _ knows  _ he's about to lose it; he's about to start bawling in front of God and all of Texas. 

“Big Kane had a big heart and an even bigger appetite,” Jensen finds himself saying, and Chris all but stops breathing next to him. 

Jensen scans the cathedral, the low overhang and sweeping pillars that make up the room. The walls are white and gold, overlaid with numerous tapestries. 

It's not the first time Jensen’s been here; he's been to Mass with Chris often enough before, but this feels final, and it hurts. 

Everyone laughs again, but this time it feels melancholy, like the memory of contentment. 

“He once told me that I wasn't out here to please anybody but God an’ my damn self,” Jensen says, “and sometimes I forget that.” 

Chris is facing him now, and Jensen ducks his head at the attention. The crowd is murmuring, but it's not in judgment; Jensen could swear he hears a few people crying.

“My daddy was the first person I told when I figured out I was gay,” Chris says suddenly, and then Chris is upright, possessive grasp on Jensen’s hip. 

“God rest his soul; he always let me find my own way to be happy.” Chris says, and Jensen can hear the finality in his voice. 

The crowd claps at once; there's no slow clap to lead it off, and Jensen is overwhelmed at the vibrant swell of support. 

It's not until Chris gently maneuvers them off of the altar and the priest steps forward that Jensen finally gets a good look at Rebecca Kane’s face. 

And honestly, has she been saving all her hate up just for him?

-

Jared’s so goddamn restless on the plane that Chad finally threatens to knock him the fuck out so that they can both make it there in one piece. 

Chad’s more mellow than he would be otherwise, product of having been given the world’s quickest and most sloppy handjob by one of the nicest girls Jared has ever met. 

Lindsay and Britt, their names were, and maybe five years ago he would've taken them up on their offer, fucked them both in a nameless bathroom stall in LAX and left them his number for another good time. 

He used to carry two cell phones; one personal; for his family and friends, and the other strictly for the people he liked to fuck. 

He and Chad were living at the height of debauchery at that time, drowning in money and fame and power. 

Jared’s not been that guy in a long while, and Lauren made damn certain of that. 

He’s got no problem signing autographs, taking carefully staged pictures in which someone is bending over in front of his crotch, but now he’s pressed for time, and the only person he cares about he’s potentially losing.

To top it all off, they rode coach.

Jared doesn’t really care how he travels; he just wants to get there, but he’s not built for the seats in coach. His knees are knocking against his chin, and Chad’s not that short either; his legs are slammed right up against the seat before him.

Honestly, he’s dying.

He’ll be damned if he loses Jensen without a fight though; that’s for sure.

He just wishes they’d known about this impromptu trip with enough time to fly first class. Jared pays in spades for leg-room, and he’d sell his firstborn right now if he could crack his bad knee like, once. 

So when they land, and Chad is dragging his bookbag across the dirty linoleum in a clear I-don’t-give-a-fuck gesture; Jared’s almost as irritated.

And what’s worse, that's in combination with already being fucking livid.

If Jensen wanted to reconnect with his ex while he was home--his ex who happens to be a Big Oil heir, nonetheless, then Jared would’ve liked a little heads up.

But also, Jensen’s probably underestimated Jared’s territoriality. Jared’s out to break backs, and Chad’s got to grab his arm as Jared reaches the DFW exit, blind rush into the sun of mid-day Texan heat.

“Jared, you got a plan or you just running out, half-cocked?” Chad says, and Jared’s this close to punching his best friend in the face.

“M’gonna beat Kane into the fucking earth, do I need more than that?” Jared says, and Chad puts one hand to the center of Jared’s spine and shoves him forward.

The automatic doors slide open soundlessly and they’re jostled out into the heat.

“Alright Jonah Hex,” Chad says roughly, and it’s so hot that even though they’re each in one layer, Chad’s white t-shirt is starting to cling to his skin.

“While you were wrestling with your luggage,” Chad says, motioning to the carry-on that Jared’s got strapped to his back, “I rented us a car,” Chad says.

Jared raises his eyebrows; he completely didn’t think of that. He really didn’t think much past flying his way to Dallas and stalking his way directly up to Christian Kane’s door, but he’s starting to think that maybe that won’t be such a good idea.

“We’re gonna get a hotel room,” Chad says, nudging Jared none-too-gently in the direction of the airport parking lot. 

Jared veers sharply to the left under Chad’s instruction, and he takes four deep, controlled breaths. 

The rental car lot is separate from long and short-term parking, and the spots are divided up evenly by company. 

There's a shuttle waiting to take them there, as it's a ten minute drive in contrast to the half hour walk. 

Jared’s already sweat-slick, and he and Chad haven't been home in a long time. They're a four hour drive away from Dallas, and Jared’s mama would probably lose her shit if she knew that Jared was in town without seeing her. 

Problem is, Jared's mom considers the whole state of Texas “in town.”

Chad settles down beside him on the shuttle, as far in the back as they can get, behind two women who somehow already look hungover. 

Jared reaches around his wrist for a hair tie and bundles his hair up in a tight knot over his head. 

“Jesus fuck,” Chad mutters, “it's hotter’n the hinges of Hell,” Chad says. 

“Hotter’n Satan’s nuts,” Jared adds, and Chad fist bumps him without looking up, head tilted toward the shade of the shuttle roof. 

“I was gonna say His asscrack, but nuts works too,” Jared hears, and it's the woman in front of them speaking, head angled slightly to the side. 

Chad snorts, but it's a testament to how beat he is that he doesn't even look up to ascertain how hot the speaker is. 

“You beat him to it,” Jared says wearily, nodding toward Chad, who, for all intents and purposes, looks absolutely dead to the world.

The woman turns around further, and her hair is dark brown, almost black, and it’s clinging to the nape of her neck with sweat in a way that makes Jared cringe. That could be his hair.

“Shit. I’m losing my A-game,” she says, and she nudges the comatose woman beside her. The second girl doesn’t stir; her blonde head lolls once and then settles back against the headrest. It’s an astonishing juxtaposition, and Jared thinks it could be a fascinating start to a porno.

He needs Chad to wake up and start taking notes.

“She look good with my dick in her mouth?” Chad asks out of habit, and Jared shrugs reflexively. He’s suddenly floored at how he becomes nothing more than an animal with prolonged exposure to Chad.

The dark haired one only raises an eyebrow, which is far kinder of a response than Jared and Chad have received in the past when Chad inevitably poses that question.

Usually, they can get away with a glare, because the both of them are pretty big dudes, and Chad likes to tell Jared that potential threats can ‘sniff a big dick a mile away’, and “self-preservation is the strongest instinct in animals man, fuck it.”

“Tell him that trial by error is the best way to find out,” she says briskly, and Chad’s head snaps up so quickly that he pales; Jared can tell he’s got mad headrush.

“What’s your name?” Chad says bluntly, and her smile is little more than daggers over skin. “Val.” She says curtly, “and this is Kasey.” The blonde groans in acknowledgment, and Jared figures that might be the best they get from her.

“I’m Chad, and this is J-squad,” Chad says, eschewing any form of subtlety. 

Jared leans out of Chad’s way; he gestures when he’s pleased, and Jared can see the gears twisting in Chad’s head. Jared thinks Val is brave for thinking she can keep up with Chad in any way, shape or form.

Chad’s like a puzzle you think you can crack with a little elbow grease and a lot of patience, but Jared’s known Chad all his life.

There’s no cracks to slip through. There’s nothing but asshole, with a sleeve of sentimental asshole underneath.

It’s fun to watch, though.

“We’re gonna be in town for a few days,” Chad says, motioning between the two of them absently. “I don’t advise any strenuous activity for the next 24,” Chad says calmly, and Jared doesn’t even try to disguise his full-bodied snort.

The shuttle is slowing down as they approach the Enterprise lot, and Jared knows they’re coming up on their stop.

Val’s eyes widen a fraction, and even Kasey sits up, loudly clearing her throat on the way.

“B-both of you?” Val stutters, but she’s still firm in her response and Jared can appreciate that. Jared raises his palms to his chest in mock distress.

“Nah, not me,” Jared says, and his chest tightens at the thought of Jensen, wrapped up underneath a Stetson, sweaty-pink for some dick that isn’t his.

Val pulls back a little bit when she glances from Chad’s face to his, and Jared thinks he’d better tone it down before he’s arrested for harassment.

“What’s your number,” Chad’s asking, his Iphone already tabbed open on Contacts. Kasey’s glaring at the side of Val’s head in much the same way that Jared tends to look at Chad, and Jared catches a whiff of tequila as Kasey shifts in her seat, peels sweat-sticky thighs away from plastic.

Val’s color is high when she hands the phone back to Chad, and then the bus is stopping, slowing in order to allow them time to hop out.

Jared nods to both ladies as he squeezes past, and he watches Kasey sharply pinch Val’s arm. 

Chad stands too, polite facade on his pretty-boy face. Chad slings his bag up and over one shoulder, and then he pops one thumb underneath Val’s chin as he follows after Jared.

“Might wanna see how long you can hold your breath too, now that I think about it,” Chad says quietly, and Jared’s body is literally shaking with the attempt to hold his laughter in his chest.

“I do a lotta porn.”

-

Jensen wants his mother.

It’s an unfamiliar feeling; he hasn’t actually ached for his mother’s presence since his first night post-Texas, drunk on Admiral Nelson and passed out on his blow-up mattress.

This could explain why he’s clinging to Chris’ hand like a madman, as they navigate through Chris’ house.

Who the fuck has a reception after a funeral?

The Devil, that’s who, Jensen thinks unkindly, but he’s just downed like seven champagne flutes in one go, and it’s fucking  _ hot  _ and he hasn’t heard from Jared all day.

Chris keeps glancing at him, eyes strange and wild in his face, and Jensen needs a shot of Jack to smooth his nerves.

He just spoke, in front of a fuckton of strangers (something he’s not keen on in any regard) and he was sacrilegious in  _ church. _

Fuck finding his mom; his mother’s just gonna smite him since God’s clearly biding his time.

“Jay,” Chris says softly, stiff-necked smile for a man that has to be old enough to be Chris’ grandfather.

Jensen glances around the room; the all-black affair.

Rebecca’s had the windows shrouded in black curtains, and Jensen thanks the heavens that she’s got the AC going on full blast, or else they’d all be damned to this castle-coffin.

There is a buffet of finger foods, each pinned together by a small onyx toothpick. Even the tablecloth is black silk, and it brushes against the floor in a whisper.

There are pillars in Chris’ family room, plantation style, and they too are ribboned with black, from ceiling to floor.

It’s weird morbid-art, Jensen decides, especially considering the added bonus that Mrs. Kane’s fingernails are glistening blue-black as well, and Jensen’s gonna be sick.

“His favorite color was red,” Jensen hisses, and Chris’ brow furrows and then fades in understanding. “Like first blood,” Chris adds, and Jensen’s brought back that heavy weight in Chris’ voice.

Jensen disentangles his hand from Chris’ and Chris immediately reaches back out for it.

“I gotta make a call,” Jensen explains, and then he’s weaving through the crowd, going for the side door just off the back of the kitchen.

He slides right out, past long-time chef Anna, who’s sending violent but respectfully muted looks in the direction of her kitchen staff.

Jensen’s head breaks rhythm in the heat, and he’s automatically loosening his tie.

He’s calling Jared before he’s consciously decided to do so, and his leg jitters underneath him, slapping dryly into the earth below.

Chris’ lawn is immaculate, grass pinstripe-fine even as it wilts against the bruise of the sun.

The phone rings four times and Jensen knows from experience that it’ll go to voicemail after the fifth. Jensen presses his fist to his forehead and shuts his eyes.

He’s not equipped to deal with all this shit today.

He’s about to probably say something he’ll regret when he suddenly hears a Hello on the other end. “Jare?” Jensen says cautiously, and he’s rewarded with a low whistle on the other end.

“Chad.” Jensen tries again, and his mouth is cottoning out in live time. 

“Pretty and smart,” Chad says dryly, and Jensen winces at the sound. There’s none of Chad’s normal good humor in the tone, and Jensen heaves in a breath. Chad must be having a shit day too, and Jensen tries not to beg for Chad to put Jared on the phone.

“Hey Chad,” Jensen says, and Chad grunts in response. “Something you need?” Chad says, and Jensen’s blood is already up.

“Yeah, for you to stop playing bitch for one second and put Jared on the phone,” Jensen hisses, and Chad’s laugh is an ugly sound in his ear.

“He’s takin’ a shower right now,” Chad says, and Jensen expels his air in a rush. 

“Okay, sorry--” Jensen tries, but that’s as far as Jensen gets. “Jensen?” Chad says, and even though it’s phrased as a question; Jensen gets the feeling that he doesn’t really have much of a choice.

“Wait til Jared calls you back,” Chad says, and then Jensen’s greeted with the dial tone.

Jensen’s abruptly chilled, despite potential heatstroke, and he shoves his phone down into the pocket of his slacks, tackiness of fine fabric against his thigh.

“My son’s been lookin’ everywhere for you,” Jensen hears, and is it possible he’s just caught in a really long Western?

“Mrs. Kane,” Jensen says politely, and now he knows that this extreme heat is just the result of him traveling down the nine circles of Hell.

-

“Jensen called,” Chad says, and Jared stiffens even as he tosses Chad a black undershirt from his open bag.

Jared feels brand-new just from twenty minutes in a shower, and he’s still blessedly cool from the AC pumping in the wide hotel room.

They have adjoining suites, but they’re in Jared’s right now. Chad’s still lounging around in his towel, which has, thankfully, remained closed this time, and he’s peppering off texts, probably to Val, Jared thinks in amusement.

“Did you answer?” Jared asks suddenly, and he releases his black dress shirt in fear of wrinkling it.

“Fuck yeah I did,” Chad answers easily, and Jared holds himself tightly. “What the fuck did you say,” Jared says, and his voice is dropping into that no-place.

Chad notices it, and he immediately looks up.

“Told him to wait for you to call him back,” Chad says carefully, and then he smirks. “You can put your dick away Jay, we’re all done measuring,” Chad says, and Jared lobs the first thing he can find at Chad, which happens to be Jared’s used towel.

Chad’s squeal of disgust is worth it.

Jared wants to call Jensen back right now--but he’s not about to expose himself like that, not when Jensen’s cosy as fuck with a Kane.

“You thought up a plan yet, big boy?” Chad says, and Jared thinks he’s playing Robot Attack Unicorn on his phone.

“Yeah,” Jared says, and he gently slides into the silk, the gentility of the fabric catching on his biceps. “M’calling my mom.” 

It’s not often that Jared throws Chad for a loop, but he buttons his cuffs and grins as Chad sputters for air below him.

“You playing that card?” Chad says, and his voice is pinched. It’s most of the reason they went off together, Jared to Berk, and Chad with Jared, because that’s what they always did.

Took Jared the three months before orientation to find Chad’s crumpled acceptance letter underneath--honestly, a pile of used condoms underneath his bed.

They’ve done pretty well for themselves, Jared thinks, but it’s times like this that he remembers that being a pornstar isn’t exactly enough for everyone.

Jared holds out his hand for his phone, and Chad tosses it to him with no small amount of contempt.

Chad stands as Jared sets the phone down on the dresser before him, turns it on speaker. Jared holds still as Chad begrudgingly adjusts his tie, and both of them instinctively wince just before Jared’s mother squeals her entrance to the conversation.

“Ma, Ma--Ma,” Jared says patiently, speaking slowly over her excitement. “Baby?” She finally says, breathless with joy at hearing Jared’s voice.

Chad raises a brow when Jared hesitates, and Jared thinks about Jensen’s eyes, the way he curls his body up into Jared’s at night, searches him out with empty fingers.

“Ma, you sent your condolences to the Kanes?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drop me some comments (like it's hot)  
> PSA: It's about to go DOWN next chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

Jared has never considered himself impulsive.

Prone to quickly making important decisions; yes. But jumping headfirst into an event without considering all possible outcomes; not quite.

It’s right now that Jared realizes he was only measuring his scale of impulsivity off of Chad, and that’s not nearly a large enough sample.

And Chad tried to convince him  _ not  _ to fly out here on a whim.

Jared’s got  _ Chad _ doing the deep-clean thinking for him, and that’s how he knows he’s royally twisted up over Jensen.

It contorts his heart in special-new ways; makes Jared think about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and Chad can tell, psychic motherfucker that he is.

“J,” Chad says, and he’s squirming in his place next to Jared, locked into the passenger seat-belt. “Jen’s nothing like him. You’re not in for round two, man.” Chad’s legs are sprawled wide, and he’s careless with the careful creases of his dress-pants.

They’re in all black, not a stitch of white to be found, and Chad is uncharacteristically subdued; apparently he’s got a modicum of respect for the dead.

Neither of them were ever particularly close to the Kanes, but Jared remembers more about Christian than Chad does. 

They went to different schools, and Chris moved away from San Antone when they were thirteen, up to Westlake, near Dallas.

Jared hasn’t thought about the Kanes in years.

“J, you really think this ain’t gonna bite you in the ass?” Chad says, point-blank in the wake of his previous reassurance, and Jared’s free hand curls into a fist against his slacks. He’s more meticulous with his attire than Chad; he’s got more to lose here.

Jared’s hair is slicked carefully to the sides, and it feels a little like his tie is strangling him.

“M’coming on behalf of my parents,” Jared says formally, squeezing a laugh out of Chad. “Yeah, that part makes sense,” Chad says, waving one hand negligently.

“What’s not gonna fly is the fact that you ain’t told Jensen that you’re oil--” Chad says carefully, and Jared snorts beside him.

“That’s cause I’m not,” Jared says stubbornly. “Not since we were sixteen, Chad; you know that.” 

Chad wisely refrains for a second, and then he twists partially in his seat.

“You grew up just as big oil as Kane, except it was on your mama’s side,” Chad shrugs. “You don’t gotta deal with people knowing you by name.”

Jared barely prohibits himself from dragging his fingers through his hair, and he takes the right turn sharply, fingers catching on the Benz emblem.

“This is why I left,” Jared grits out, coming to a rolling stop. Chad grunts in acknowledgment; they’ve been over this multiple times.

Jared loves his family but hates the life; he’d honestly meant to get his education at Berk and let that be that. Porn was just a thing they fell into; Jared didn’t want to ask his parents for anymore money.

There’s not a lot of angst in the decision; they’d made it a long time ago and it suited them. Jared’s family is basically good with it now, not that Jared gave them much of a choice. He’s always been too strong-willed, and that’s rearing its ugly head right now.

“Jensen wants big oil,” Jared says suddenly, and Chad’s bending backwards, reaching in the backseat to unstrap the carnations Jared’s bought for Kane’s mother.

There’s a long line of cars in front of the Kane property, and Jared would be impressed at the expanse of land if it didn’t make his stomach roil with thoughts of home. 

The cars are all monochromatic black, and Jared knows it’s a stylistic choice. If everything he’s heard about Mrs. Kane is true; the woman is fastidious to a fault. Jared knows enough about Texan matriarchy to make sure they rented an all-onyx car.

His plan isn’t prone to success if he offends the hostess.

Jared parallel parks in between what looks like some sort of Jeep-Hummer hybrid and an i8, which makes Jared miss his own.

Chad’s out of the car first, and his eyes dart around the lawn in annoyance. 

“You telling me I can’t mention pussy--not once?” Chad grits out, and Jared’s knee-jerk response is to clip Chad on any part of his body he can reach.

Jared adjusts his suit jacket carefully, snaps it once to rid the fabric of any lingering wrinkles.

“His dad’s dead,” Jared grumbles, eating up the green with long strides, one to every two of Chad’s. “Keep your shit on the level.”

Chad’s eyebrows crawl up to his hairline as he snorts. “Me? I can’t talk about sex but you can funeral-crash cause your boy’s leading you around by your dick?” Chad says, and Jared feels a hard knot take root in his stomach.

“Exactly,” Jared says weakly, because what kind of defense has he got against that?

They come up to the door, and Jared can faintly hear the hushed sounds of grief coming from inside the estate.

Jared’s suddenly seized with the knowledge of how wrong this is; to intrude on something like this because of his insatiable need for Jensen.

“I wouldn’t have come here if he was gonna be anywhere else,” Jared says to Chad, suddenly frantic, even as he raises his fist to knock on the door.

Chad claps a hand on his shoulder and lowers Jared’s hand back down to his side.

“Ring the doorbell, you fucking pimp,” Chad says, and then Jared’s best friend leans on the bell himself, flowers balanced in one hand.

-

The doorbell throws Jensen for a loop. 

He's tucked up next to Chris again, motionless. Chris is glancing over at him with that expression that Jensen hates so much. 

“Jay, you with me?” Chris asks, and Jensen’s about to answer when one of the Kane staff strides over to the entrance to politely open the door.

Jensen must make some sort of muted-animal sound, because Chris’ arm snakes around his waist with all the propriety of ten years ago.

“Baby?” Chris says quietly, and Jensen jerks at the endearment. Jensen slants his eyes over and Chris’ ears are tip-pink. He’s not even facing Jensen; he knows he fucked up. 

Jensen doesn’t have the time to be angry over the recent turn of events, but that’s only because Jared is hovered in the entryway to Kane’s estate, and Mrs. Kane is smiling so wide at him that Jensen can feel the lack of it from all the way from across the room.

Jared’s back is brace-straight, and although he’s smiling congenially; Jensen watches surreptitiously from his hiding place as Jared’s eyes harden.

They catch on Jensen, inevitably, and Jensen can't help the frisson of terror that shudders through him. 

"You know him?" Chris asks, and his voice has gone pinched, hovering on that desperate edge before fury. 

"Jensen." Chris repeats, because apparently; Jensen isn't speaking quickly enough. 

"My mama wanted to tell you she's real sorry she couldn't make it down," Jared says, and Jensen's heart cannot handle anymore shocks today. 

"She sent--" Jared pauses and motions behind him, stiff line of his shoulder as he turns halfway to face his previously unseen companion. 

Chad. 

Jensen dislodges himself from Chris' grip smoothly at that, but Chris isn't solely focused on Jensen for once. 

"That Padalecki?" Chris wonders aloud, and Jensen's air gets caught in his throat. 

"Why,  _ you _ know him?" Jensen asks, and Chris fixes him with a glare. 

"We went to different schools back when I lived down near San Antone, 'fore I moved to Dallas," Chris explains. 

"All of us knew the life, one way or the other," Chris says inattentively, rolling his cuffs up to his elbows. Chris watches as Jared defers to Mrs. Kane, meekly sidles his way into the foyer with a polite Chad in tow. 

"What?" Jensen says, distracted, and Chris takes him by the elbow and steers Jensen clear of the guests who are making a beeline in Jared's direction. 

"Didn't you know?" Chris says strangely, but Jensen can't spare a glance for his former best friend; his eyes are stunted on the breadth of Jared's chest in his suit jacket; the kindly way he tilts his head down to meet their hostess. 

"Your boy's oil," Chris says softly, and Jared hands the flowers off and makes a purposeful line to Jensen and Chris' corner. 

-

Jared can feel Chad’s presence behind him faintly; the way one feels the stability of earth after landing from a long flight, but he’s not fully aware of it.

He’s more focused on the pale-play of light against Jensen’s cheekbones, wind-flushed and waning, the thick of Jensen’s pretty-pink lip gnawed in between his teeth.

Jared’s blood travels south so abruptly that he very nearly stumbles mid-stride.

His eyes travel away from Jensen reluctantly, and there’s a chilled clutch in his chest at the way Kane is standing next to Jensen, close and personal, like he  _ knows  _ Jensen. Like he understands the cotton-candy flush that runs down the entirety of Jensen’s body.

Like Kane’s got any idea of the open sprawl of Jensen’s limbs when Jared punches his way deep and buries himself alive inside all of that home.

Jared’s vibrating as he comes to a stop before them, and he feels Chad lay a heavy hand on his shoulder from behind. The grip is bruising, restrictive. Chad can see he’s a hair’s breadth away from snapping, and the offense of doing it here is all that curtails Jared.

“Christian,” Jared says lowly, voice controlled. Jared holds out a hand for Christian to shake and Chad slides out beside him, one hand tucked low into Armani slacks.

Chad’s face is impassive, which is its own reward. Chad’s hair is slicked back against his head, and Chad holds his own right hand out in wait of Jared’s release of Chris’ palm.

Their hands connect dryly and Jared immediately clamps down, too much force. Jared listens as Christian’s joints grate painfully against one another, and then he releases, wide grin splitting his face open.

Christian’s face is flushed, and his eyes remain focused on Jared even as he takes Chad’s proffered hand.

Chad grunts his name and Christian mutters something back, but Jared’s fist curls up tight as he turns the half-inch needed to meet Jensen’s face.

Jensen’s eyes are round and wet, and Jared curbstomps the urge to reach up and pluck Jensen’s lip loose from the cage of his teeth.

“Sweetheart,” Jared drawls, and he feels Chad stiffen to the left of him. 

Jensen releases his lip of his own accord and this time Jared doesn’t bother with a modicum of self-control.

Jared reaches closer and thumbs the swollen flesh, cupping Jensen’s cheek in one palm.

“I didn’t know you knew Chris,” Jared says amicably. Jared knows his voice retains no further emotion, it’s a clipped, dry-air thing, but he can’t expose anything to Kane. He’s not about to give Chris the satisfaction.

Jensen’s lashes are wet--has he been crying recently?

Jared’s mania triples at the thought. He leans forward mindlessly; he’s sure of it now. Jensen’s eyes are puffy, blush-rimmed, and Jared’s got about three seconds to consider how he’s about to dismember Christian Kane at his own father’s funeral.

“I--I uh, we used to be friends,” Jensen stutters. “I mean, we are friends. Friends. His dad died,” Jensen says in a rush, and that’s Jared’s baby, pinched-up and nervous.

Jared hates the way Jensen makes him feel right now.

“You know Jensen?” Chris asks, and then he’s stepping closer into Jared’s sphere, pressed up against Jensen’s side like he  _ owns  _ him, like he’s got any kind of fucking right to be around all of that innocence.

Jensen ducks his head briefly, and Jared catches a flash of  _ something _ flicker across Jensen’s face.

“I do,” Jared says simply, and he’s patient. He can wait for Jensen to elaborate. Chris looks expectant, and Jared watches as Chris curls one arm around Jensen’s unresisting waist.

That’s fucking it. 

Chad’s in motion suddenly, but he’s not quick enough this time.

“I’m a patient goddamned man--” Jared begins, and Jensen’s glancing up so swiftly that the rest of Jared’s sentence dissolves in mid-air.

“We’ve been seein’ each other,” Jensen says crisply, and Jared can see for certain that he’d been crying heavily earlier, and he resolves to get some alone time with Christian Kane as soon as humanly possible.

“Really,” Chris says, and he doesn’t sound near broken enough for the words Jensen's just said.

“Just a day for the unexpected for you, that right Kane?” Jared says, and Chad coughs heavily next to him.

Jared revels in the way Chris’ face blanches, and the reproachful look that Jensen sends him is almost enough to keep Jared squirming. 

“Chris, can I talk to Jared for a second?” Jensen asks, and there’s fondness in Jensen’s voice. There’s enough warmth couched in the question that Jared glances directly at Chad in utter fear.

Chad’s eyes are fixed just beyond Jared’s shoulder, and Chad returns his gaze to Jared's face when he feels Jared looking at him.

Chad’s halfway to pantomiming jerking-off when Jared narrows his eyes. Chad inclines his head in Jensen’s direction and Jared refocuses his attention.

Chris has paled, and he’s clutching at Jensen’s arm in a way that Jared would laugh at if he didn’t know that the man’s father had just passed. As it is; Jared feels only shame, but he’s not chagrined enough to leave Jensen alone with Kane for one more second.

“Jared,” Jensen says quietly, and Jared feels a sick thrill in his stomach as Chris detaches his hand from Jensen’s body.

Chris looks weakened as Jared walks away; Jensen before him, and Jared’s just big enough of a man to feel apologetic.

Chad smirks at Jared’s retreat and then claps a hand down on Chris’ shoulder.

“Stop pouting, man, Molly Ringwald’ll be right back.”

-

Jared’s feeling twenty-shades of smug, which fades instantly as soon as Jensen turns to face him.

Jared’s abruptly reminded that they’re in a home that Jensen grew up in, watches the seamless way Jensen winds the corner past what sounds like the kitchen.

In hindsight; Jared really should've seen this coming. 

They round one final corner; they're on what appears to be the second floor, wide space of rooms centered around what looks like a more casual living area. 

Jared's mid-way to making some kind of quip about the decor when Jensen turns on him and punches him square in the arm. 

"Jesus fuck," Jared hisses, and Jensen blinks up at him, dew-wet and flushed. 

"Goddamnit," Jensen hisses, and Jared draws himself up to his full height. 

"Sorry to fucking interrupt," Jared says sullenly, and Jensen's face wrinkles. 

"Interrupt what?" Jensen asks. "If you're talking about the fact that you crashed a funeral to go play Who’s-Got-The-Biggest-Dick, then yeah; you're an ass," Jensen says. 

Jensen's voice is stiff, like all of his effort is going into keeping himself running on near empty. 

"I saw you," Jared says, softening his tone. "I saw you guys on TV, just before the service."

Jensen's ears turn cream-pink and Jared's got one broad palm on the nape of Jensen's neck before he can think better of it. 

"Is that how it is?" Jared asks, and Jensen sucks that lip back into the cavern of his mouth. 

"His daddy's dead, Jare," Jensen says. "It's not like anything."

"That's a goddamned lie," Jared says, and Jensen stiffens in his grip. 

"You may not want anything," Jared concedes, "but Kane damn sure'll bend you over any surface if he ever gets the chance."

Jensen's face goes from bubblegum to claret in an instant, and he wrenches himself back so forcefully that he trips. 

"I'm a fucking adult, Jared; I like to think I can choose who the hell I fuck." Jensen whisper-yells. 

Jared wants to be sorry; he really does, but he's not wrong, and just because Jensen has some kind of misplaced loyalty to his best friend doesn't change the fact that Jared knows that look. 

He knows that glazed-hunger of Chris' eyes, he can see the way that Chris orients himself around Jensen when Jensen's otherwise occupied. 

"You can," Jared grits out. 

Jensen's gasping for air, chest heaving with the exertion of anger, and Jared's dick swells as he follows the clean charcoal line of Jensen's tailored suit. 

Jensen isn't wearing a suit jacket and the top two buttons are exposed, a sliver of pale flesh at the precipice. 

Jared's gonna lose his damn mind over this boy. 

"You gonna choose then," Jared says, and he's moving forward; his actions are a separate entity from his brain. 

"You gonna let him take you from me," Jared hisses, and then he catches Jensen around the waist, wants to scrub Jensen clean of any touch Chris has ever had, present and past. 

Jensen's mouth pops open and Jared dives in, slants his lips across Jensen's puffy ones. 

Jared claims that lower lip as his own, sucks it into his mouth like medicine. 

Jensen's hands fly up in shock, and then they curl around Jared's neck and tug him closer. 

"C'mere," Jared hisses in between licks, drags his tongue across the map of Jensen's mouth. 

Jensen mewls, and it's such a pretty-slick sound that Jared groans his appreciation right up against the spit spine of Jensen's lips. 

When Jared finally pulls back, Jensen looks obscene, fat-heavy pout of his lips, crimson bloom of his face, and Jared's heart makes a strange jump in his chest. 

"Jen, I can't lose you," Jared says, and then he doesn't have the chance to say anything else because Jensen's pressing his lithe body forward, and Jared's hips jitter at the cloth on cloth drag of limbs. 

Jensen arches his pelvis up so pretty; the hard line of his dick pressing so tight against Jared's own. 

"M'not fucking playing, baby," Jared says, and he groans as Jensen's mouth finds the side of his neck and latches on with a pinch. 

"You want me to fuck you right here," Jared growls, and Jensen dislodges his mouth. 

"You wouldn't," Jensen gasps, and his eyes are fever bright. 

"Wouldn't I?" Jared asks, snakes one hand down to splay against the curve of Jensen's ass. 

Jensen presses into the grip unconsciously, and that's what does it for Jared, in the end. 

Jared removes his hand and grins at Jensen's whine of loss. 

His palm is back the next instant, one hand braced against the cushion of Jensen's ass, the other quickly unbuttoning Jensen's slacks. 

Jensen shimmies his hips at the effort, inadvertent seduction, and Jared rests his chin over top of Jensen's bowed head. 

Jensen's warm face is pressed in the crook of Jared's neck and Jensen whimpers when Jared deftly undoes the inner button of his dress pants. 

Jared's hand slides inside so quickly that Jensen gasps, and Jared reluctantly moves his hand from Jensen's ass to pull Jensen's head back by the hair. 

"You want this?" Jared says; he can't help the punch-drunk motion of his pelvis against the slow grind of his hand on Jensen's dick. 

Jensen's Adam's apple bobs precariously, and Jared is fascinated by every slow swallow Jensen makes. 

Jared leans forward and latches onto vulnerable skin, worries the flesh between too-violent teeth. 

"Gonna--gonna leave a mark, Jared," Jensen whimpers, and Jensen moves his hands from the nape of Jared's neck to clutch on Jared's biceps. 

Jared can feel the thick line of Jensen's dick, blood heavy and trembling. 

"Jesus Christ, I want them to see it," Jared says, and then he releases Jensen's hair only to drag Jensen's pants and boxers down to mid thigh. 

Jared expects a reprimand; Jensen hates when he does that, but when he looks down Jensen's eyes are glassy and unfocused. 

Jared trembles with that knowledge; the thought that he's got Jensen so strung out; the idea that Christian Kane could ever think he'd get this without a fight. 

Jensen holds his head upright, and Jared can see the violet-rose of the bruise. Jared smiles slowly at how it's centered in the hollow of Jensen's throat. 

Jared's hand has gone slack against Jensen's dick, and Jensen humps forward in desperation.  

"Please, please, Jared--God  _ please, _ " Jensen whines, and Jared watches sea-bottle eyes glisten with unsure tears. 

"You want me to let you come," Jared whispers, and he's high on the proximity of Jensen, the ripeness of his boy-body. 

"Fuck, you know I do," Jensen says, and he's gasping for air as Jared jacks him off slow, tightens around the shaft and slicks Jensen up with his own pre-come. 

"C'mon, c'mon," Jensen chants. "You came all the way here," Jensen says. 

Jensen's thrusts stutter and Jared hisses. His dick could cut glass and it jerks sympathetically in his boxers. 

"You--you flew all the way to Dallas," Jensen says, voice thick. "Told you," Jensen says, and Jared doesn't like how coherent he sounds. 

Jared twists his hand at the crown of Jensen's dick and Jared chuckles as he feels it grow even harder under his palm.

"T-told you you couldn't keep away from this ass," Jensen smirks, and then Jared's boy tenses; his body one sinuous, brittle line. 

Jared's hand glides down to the base and then Jared squeezes, snaps Jensen's orgasm in two. 

Jensen's cry is so loud it's almost inhumane, and Jared ducks quickly, swallows up Jensen's disappointment with his tongue. 

When Jared pulls back; Jensen's jaw is slack; lips reddened to the point of pain. 

"See," Jared begins; he's breathing heavily; Jensen always cuts his stamina down by halves, "I want you to come for me," Jared says. 

"But only for me,” Jared says. “When I say you can.”

Jensen's blinks are lethargic, and Jared pulls his hand back from the angry swell of Jensen's cock. 

Jared leans down and tugs Jensen's pants back over pliant legs, buttons Jensen up clean and smooths the wrinkles from his attire. 

Jared looks around the room for the first time, catches sight of the black and gold interior, metallic sheen against matte darkness. 

The ottomans are onyx; paired with bright armchairs, and Jared regrets not allowing Jensen to come all over them. 

Jared holds his hand out for Jensen to take, and Jensen looks down in a haze before his hot fingers curl around Jared's palm. 

"You're an ass," Jensen mutters, and Jared watches as Jensen checks to make sure his dick is tucked safely in his waistband where it can’t be used to scare the commonfolk.

“Why?” Jared asks as he allows Jensen to take the lead, navigate them down the maze of stairs.

“You know what you did,” Jensen says, surprisingly even-tempered for someone who has just been denied an orgasm.

Jared’s about to reply when they wind down the final corner and come face-to-face with Christian Kane himself.

-

Jensen stumbles on the final step before the landing to Chris’ foyer, and that’s only because Christian’s face meets Jensen far sooner than he expected.

“Shit,” Jensen mutters, and he feels his harpoon of a dick wilt a bit from shock. Jared collides with his back, and Jensen lurches forward entirely with the blow of 200 plus pounds of muscle smashing into his spine.

Chris’ hands are there instantly, bracing Jensen upright by his waist, and Jensen flushes.

“Thanks Chris,” Jensen says kindly, but it takes him a second to realize that Chris has stopped moving, and instead of releasing Jensen instantly; Chris’ fingers are digging into the taut flesh of his hips.

“Fuck, ease up Chris,” Jensen whispers, but Chris’ eyes aren't even focused on Jensen’s face anymore. They’re settled somewhere around his throat, and Jensen’s face blossoms with color as he remembers what Jared put there. What Jared wanted them all to see.

“Chris,” Jensen hisses; Chris has been holding on a beat too long, and Jensen winces with the added pressure on his sides.

Jared’s suddenly looming beside Jensen, and when Jensen looks into his face, Jared’s countenance is devoid of all emotion; everything except for his eyes. 

It’s a washboard, and Jensen looks away from both of them to scan the crowd for Chad.

Chad’s surrounded by three women, one of which is old enough to be Chad’s mother, and, if Jensen’s not mistaken, Chad appears to be pantomiming oral sex--

Jensen’s focus is abruptly dragged back to the present when Jared speaks.

“M’gonna have to ask you to get your goddamn hands off of him,” Jared says softly, and Jensen’s dick perks right back up just as his heart stutters over necessary beats.

Chris shakes his head and turns to Jared with a smile that Jensen hasn’t seen in some time.

“Seems like you done that enough for the both of us,” Chris says pleasantly, and Jensen jerks himself free, shoulder blade clipping Jared’s chest on the swing out.

“Are you two fucking serious?” Jensen whispers, willing his fucking dick to take a backseat to the proceedings.

“Alright Clint, Wayne,” Jensen says, “which one of you can draw fastest,” Jensen says sullenly, but neither of them spare Jensen a glance.

“See,” Jared says, and he’s shouldering his way past Jensen, leaving Jensen on the last stair.

“Difference is, he  _ asked  _ me to touch him,” Jared says, and then he’s standing directly in front of Chris. Jensen didn’t think Jared could get taller, but here he is, positively splayed over top of Chris, unnecessary inches forcing Chris’ neck up and back.

Chris has never had any form of self-preservation, though, and he only smirks at Jared’s words.

“I known Jensen all my life, boy,” Chris spits. “He’s down here at this funeral for  _ my  _ daddy, at  _ my  _ request,” Chris says. 

“I think you better take two steps back.” Chris says.

Jensen’s about two seconds away from hauling ass and punching them both in the damn mouth. Jensen chances a look for Chad again and this time he’s rewarded when Chad meets his gaze. Chad takes in the scene faster than Jensen had in the first place, and he’s immediately in motion.

Chad skirts around three groups of people in record time, and Jensen shoves one hand in his pocket to grip at his thigh.

They’re not doing anything--yet.

The tendons in Jared’s neck are standing out in stark relief, and Jensen thinks logically about which one he has a better chance of stopping.

Chris, probably.

“It takes a lot to get me riled up,” Jared says kindly, and Jensen’s taken aback by the amiability in Jared’s tone. This is not an improvement. This is worse.

“Ain’t that right Chad?” Jared says, and Jensen spins to find Chad lounging against the railing, blue eyes darting around the room in caution.

“Slow as fuck. Patient to a fault,” Chad says, and the way Chad grins reminds Jensen of serrated knives.

Are they all in on this? Is this a fucking joke?

“But I’ma need you to hear me on this,” Jared says, and then he’s whipcord fast, grabs Chris’ arm and uses it to spin Chris’ body, holds him in front of Jared’s chest. He puts Chris’ arm in a grappling hold, jerks it high and tight behind Chris’ back.

Chris grunts with surprise and pain, and Jensen steps forward.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you both; you hear me?” Jensen says, but his words are meaningless with the way that Jensen’s got to whisper his threats for propriety’s sake.

“He  _ just  _ told you we’re seein’ each other,” Jared says, ignoring him, and Chad steps closer, placid look on his pale features.

“If he ever wants your sorry ass hands on him; then we can talk, but until then,” Jared says, jerking Chris’ arm up higher against the small of his back. Chris winces in pain but doesn’t otherwise make a sound.

“Don’t touch him. Don’t even fucking look at him like he’s somethin’ you get to have,” Jared says, and his voice is rising, papercut bleed of emotion.

“Make him feel uncomfortable again and you’ll have brought him up here for two funerals,” Jared finishes, and Jensen’s stomach swirls heavy and distant below him.

Jensen’s livid; there’s no doubt about that, but he’s also so turned on it hurts, and he didn’t think this was something he was into.

Jared’s probably the most possessive son of a bitch Jensen’s ever met--but it’s not like anyone else, Chris included, has ever cared enough about Jensen to keep him around like this.

Jared gives Chris a little shove when he releases him from the hold, and Chad is already standing next to Jared, both of them six feet plus on the landing.

Chad is uncharacteristically serious, both hands couched in his slacks. Jared’s got his arms folded across the ample expanse of chest, and Chris turns halfway to glance at Jensen.

Jensen’s heart pinches pitifully; Chris doesn’t deserve this. He left Jensen behind; that’s true; he chose everything he could before he thought about choosing Jensen instead, but Jensen never intended for any of this to happen.

Jensen knows none of this hurts as much as what Chris did to him, though.

Jensen can feel Jared’s eyes on him and Jensen flushes under the scrutiny. He’s always been told he’s got an expressive face.

Jensen’s so distracted that he almost misses Chris curl his fist and lunge back into a sharp right hook.

“Jared!” Jensen cries, louder than he intended, and Jensen watches in slow motion as Chad jerks his hands out of his pockets.

“Fuck," Chad mutters, "I just wanted to watch the goddamned game," but he’s still grinning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys; this isn't even the end to the drama (I cannot believe they got themselves into this debacle)   
> I need your thoughts/theories on this hot mess


	12. Chapter 12

“What’d she say to you,” Jensen asks, and Jared reaches for his hand only for Jensen to stiffen up beside him.

Jared stifles his sigh and reprimands himself. Jensen deserves the answer; he’d watched the entire debacle.

Jensen and Chad had stood together as Mrs. Kane had silenced Chris with a look; directed Jared to come and speak with her.

He deserves most of this. He mercilessly goaded a man who was already not on the best footing. He can see that now with the benefit of hindsight, but he can’t bring himself to regret putting Kane in his damn place; especially in front of Jensen.

Jensen’s cross-legged in the center of Jared’s King, and Jared’s opening and closing his hands before him, dress shoes digging into the hotel carpet.

Jensen’s in his button-up and boxers, and Jared wants to grin at how vulnerable Jensen looks; legs naked save for dress socks pulled up to his calves.

"Jared." Jensen says; his voice barely above a whisper. "M'not gonna ask you again."

Jared's taken aback by the amount of vitriol in Jensen's voice, but he figures he can stomach it in exchange for Jensen's eventual forgiveness. 

"She told me that Chris is having a rough time of it," Jared says carefully; he doesn't exactly know what Jensen wants to hear right now. 

"She said," Jared begins, and then chuckles, recalls how firm Mrs. Kane was; one manicured hand perched delicately on Jared's shirt sleeve. 

"She said she knew I was a good boy, and she really hopes Chris and I can sort this whole thing out," Jared says. 

Jared smiles sheepishly at Jensen's bowed head. 

"She really likes my mama," Jared explains feebly. 

"I think they had a cotillion together when they were like, sixteen or something--"

"She told me I was gonna burn in Hell," Jensen says quietly, and Jared's knee locks up with an audible crack. 

Jensen looks up in worry and scrambles forward, thin fingers outstretched to probe at Jared's joints, but Jared catches him by the wrist and pins Jensen still. 

"What." Jared asks; he's got a bad habit of not phrasing inquires as questions when he's infuriated. 

Jensen's eyes are red again, and Jared pulls Jensen forward so that Jensen is resting half in his lap, torso spread across Jared's thighs. 

"She uh," Jensen begins, and Jared follows the line of cream-blush down the nape of Jensen's neck. 

"Every time I come into C-Chris' life I fuck it up," Jensen begins, and his voice is quavering, something Jared is woefully unfamiliar with. 

"Right before you and Chad got there," Jensen says, "she wanted to talk to me."

Jared's hand is curled around Jensen's shoulder and he loosens his vice-like grip when Jensen whimpers once in pain. 

"God, God, I can't hear it anymore," Jensen says; he's curling in on himself, and Jared's heart is about to beat right out of his chest. 

"If she tells me one more time about how Chris was never--never like this til he met me," Jensen's sobs eat up his words like brush fire, and Jared hauls him upright. 

Jared's quiet as he spins Jensen's body to face his chest, and Jensen automatically brackets his thighs around Jared's legs and presses his wet face into Jared's neck. 

Jared wraps both arms around Jensen's back and they rock that way; Jensen quietly whimpering into the hollow of Jared's throat. 

Jared's desire still stands. 

Any man that'll allow his mother to treat his boyfriend that way is no man in Jared's book. 

Jared wishes he hadn't blocked Chris' blow to the face. 

He wishes he'd pummeled Chris into the earth like the dog he is. 

"Told me I was filthy when I was fifteen," Jensen says quietly from his hiding place, and Jared constrains himself, only hums in response. 

"Chris had just asked me out and, God, I was so fucking happy, you know?" Jensen snorts. 

"I was a gay kid in Texas, man, and she made it so much  _ worse, _ " Jensen says. 

"What did she do?" Jared grits out, and Jensen's shaking his head so frantically that Jared knows he hit a nerve. 

"Hey, hey, hey Jen, hey baby," Jared whispers, rubs circles into Jensen's quivering back. 

"You're with me," Jared says, "you hear me? You're mine, long as you want me," Jared says. 

"I don't--I don't think I can talk about it," Jensen admits, and Jared smiles, just a little, at the congestion in Jensen's tone. 

"Only my parents know," Jensen continues, and Jared nods; his chin brushing against Jensen's scalp. 

"Okay. Okay, baby," Jared says; he doesn't want to spook Jensen off, not when he plans to figure this one out alone; drag Chad into this mess alongside him. 

"Chris was just a fucking kid, y'know," Jensen says wearily, and Jared can hear how tired Jensen is, the press of exhaustion in his limbs. 

"He didn't do it; he didn't mean anything," Jensen mumbles, and Jared can't help crushing Jensen closer to his chest at the innocent admission. 

-

When Jensen opens his eyes; he shakes; he's a little cold and he's not sure why. 

He blinks blearily and glances over to his left, joints popping with every increase in movement. 

Jared's side of the bed is empty, and Jensen shoots upright in alarm. 

He's not clothed in his dress shirt the way he was prior to sleep, and he scrunches his nose up in some confusion about his attire. 

It's Jared's; he can tell, but that's because it hangs off of him, delicate balance on one shoulder. 

It's a Spurs t-shirt, and Jensen recognizes the color scheme; he stole one like it from Jared during their brief break up. 

"You didn't even notice me changing you," Jensen hears, and Jared is sitting on the end of the bed, Iphone cradled in one large hand.

“How long’s it been since you slept.” Jared asks, and Jensen ducks his head sheepishly. “Probably two days,” Jensen admits, and Jared stands, mouth pinched.

“You been sleeping like shit; you got a bitch of a mother after you, and you were gonna tell me any of this--when?” Jared says quietly, and Jensen sucks his lower lip into his mouth.

“You had shit to do,” Jensen says lamely, and he scrambles back against the headboard when Jared’s suddenly looming over him, arms bracketed against the wood above his shoulders.

“This is important,” Jared says. “You’re important.” Jensen shrugs like he doesn’t really care, but he thinks Jared takes it an entirely different way; from the way Jared’s face squeezes up and then flatlines.

"We gotta talk about yesterday," Jensen says abruptly, peering directly into Jared's face. 

Jared raises one brow but nods, mouth closed. 

"You can't--you can't just come places and _ do  _ that kind of shit," Jensen says. He can't believe he's saying this, especially with the way he got off on it, but it's the truth. 

Jared was wrong, and by extension, so was Jensen. 

Jared's face has gone empty, but it's not mad-closed; Jared just looks confused.

"But I thought y--" Jared starts, but Jensen cuts him off. 

"Yeah, I liked it, you're right," Jensen fills in, "but just ‘cause I like something doesn't mean it's right."

Jensen steeples his hands under his chin and sighs. "It was his dad's funeral." 

"We fucked up," Jensen says, eyes fluttering closed with the admission. He's tired of shouldering every burden, but this one rightfully belongs to him. 

"You gotta talk to me as much as you want me to talk to you, man," Jensen says. He's fumbling; he's not good at verbalizing his emotions and Jared slumps forward with the words. 

"You  _ call  _ me next time, text, I don't care," Jensen says, "but don't ever do that again." Jensen's firm on that front. 

He was raised better than that and he knows for a fact Jared was too. 

“That kind of shit happens again; I really will kick your ass,” Jensen says, and he’s afraid he’s gone too far. There’s a part of him, small and weak-hinged that wants to see just how far he can push Jared, but he’s trembling because he means it.

Jared's ears are flushed; Jared's not a man accustomed to taking a dressing-down, and Jensen's mildly shocked at Jared's lack of defense. 

"You're right," Jared says softly, head bowed. "You and Chad," Jared says, and his laugh is self-deprecating at best. 

Jensen wants to reach out and touch; it's in his nature to fix, but he holds his hands in his lap and doesn't budge. 

Jared needs time to process and Jensen can't be responsible for doing that for him. 

“So. What do you wanna do today?” Jared asks, voice blank, and Jensen raises a brow. “I’m supposed to be providin' Chris with moral support, but you put a nice stop to that one,” Jensen quips before he can think better of it.

Jared smirks like it doesn’t bother him in the slightest, and Jensen can’t help the coil of frost that chills his abdomen. 

“S’not what I asked you,” Jared repeats, and Jensen rolls his eyes. “Haven’t seen my mama since the funeral yesterday,” Jensen says, and he stares directly into Jared’s eyes.

“But that’s not somethin’ you’d be interested in,” Jensen says, and Jared’s eyes are hot-bright with something Jensen doesn’t have a name for.

“You’d be surprised,” Jared says, and then he’s leaping from the bed, firm landing; lean cat.

“You wanna drive or you want to give me directions?” Jared says, halfway in the bathroom already. Jared’s already dressed, black v-neck against even darker jeans, and Jensen wants to remind him that they’re in  _ Dallas,  _ where Lucifer keeps a summer home.

“You serious,” Jensen says, and he scrambles out of the bed in fear. Jensen underestimates his equilibrium, and the lack of food he’s eaten in the last two days, and Jared catches him by the elbow just before he topples onto the floor.

“Well first, we’re getting you some fucking food,” Jared mutters to himself, “but yeah, m’pretty damn serious.”

Jared’s pulling his hair back into a bun, and he looks mildly irritated as he does it; like he doesn’t want to deal with the sweltering temperature they’re sure to encounter.

“My mama,” Jensen tries, “is kind of intense,” Jensen says, and Jared snorts from where he’s standing.

“You don’t know intense til you meet my mom,” Jared counters, and Jensen’s pretty sure Jared will have an answer for anything Jensen can throw at him.

“Chad,” Jensen splutters. “We can’t bring Chad.” 

Jared full out laughs this time, and he turns to face Jensen entirely, cocks his hip against porcelain and crosses his arms.

“We can’t even bring Chad to his own damn mother,” Jared says and Jensen chuckles against his will. “Where is the fucker, anyway,” Jensen asks, scanning the room to see whether or not Chad’s passed out under a chair or something.

“He’s got his own room next door,” Jared says, jerking a thumb in the direction of the wall. “He’s probably out with these girls that we met on the way here, though,” Jared says slowly, like he’s thinking to himself.

“What girls,” Jensen snaps, and then he wires his mouth shut before he can make more of a fool of himself.

Jared looks at him funny as he pads back into the room on bare feet. “On the shuttle to pick up the rental,” Jared says, “we met two girls. They were nice. Chad’s gonna fuck one of ‘em,” Jared laughs and then he’s shimming out of his pants, no preamble.

Jensen’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth at the tease, and Jared’s not even paying attention, Calvins clinging to muscular thighs as he digs around in his luggage for something to wear.

“Think your mom’ll mind if I wear shorts,” Jared says, rising to his full height and holding a pair of blue basketball shorts in front of Jensen’s face.

Jensen’s only thinking about how easy he could snake his hand in between the silken fabric and fondle Jared’s balls when he nods.

“She uh, she won’t give a fuck,” Jensen says. He scratches at his exposed collarbone from where Jared’s shirt has ridden low on his body.

Jared makes a low sort of groan deep in his throat, and Jensen comes up short.

“What?” Jensen asks uncertainly, pats his face and body down in alarm. 

Jared drags his shorts up his legs and grins in that way that usually gets Jensen fucked stupid for six straight.

“Like you in my clothes,” Jared says, and Jensen runs a hand through his hair. “Course you do,” Jensen says. “Cause you’re a goddamned neanderthal.”

Jared crosses over to the nightstand and catches his keys up into his palm. “You make me that way,” Jared says, and Jensen takes a slow turn around the room as he realizes he has no clothes here.

“All my clothes are at Chris’,” Jensen laments, and Jared stiffens at the name. “You can wear some of my shit,” Jared says, and then he’s tossing Jensen a black pair of shorts.

“Yeah, cause that’s goin’ so well,” Jensen snaps, tugs at the offending Spurs t-shirt. “Keep it on,” Jared says, stalking closer, and they do  _ not  _ have time to screw the way Jared so obviously wants.

“Wanna fuck you in it later,” Jared says, and Jensen can’t even help the hungry little twitch his dick makes at the image.

“Your body got any blood left to spare for your actual brain,” Jensen says, but he’s dragging the shorts up and adjusting the collar of the shirt so he doesn’t look quite so thirsty for a dicking down.

“All my fantasies are about you,” Jared says in a sickly sweet voice, and he doesn’t even flinch when Jensen pops him in the back of the head.

-

Jensen doesn’t live in Vaquero, not even close. His family isn’t poor, but they’re nowhere near big oil, and that’s always been fine with Jensen--right up until he started dating Chris and realized exactly what that meant for their relationship.

Jensen’s driving; he’s never handled a car so nice, and Jared’s tapping out a beat on Jensen’s thigh, slow finger flicks in accompaniment to the angsty teenage music blaring from the Benz speakers.

“What is this,” Jensen yells over the beat, and Jared doesn’t even pause in his movements. 

“It’s a mixtape my kid sister made me,” Jared explains, and he turns the song down just a little so Jensen doesn’t go deaf at twenty-six.

“She’s really into A Day to Remember right now,” Jared says, and Jensen could swear that there’s a slow-crawl blush lining Jared’s face.

“Every time she sends me one I promise to listen to it,” Jared explains. “Only way I can do it is in the car though, can’t stomach them on a run.”

Jared’s fingers falter for a second as the song changes, and then they pick up with vigor; he must like this song.

“Seems like you’re into it,” Jensen teases, swinging into a slow right turn.

Jared snorts and squeezes Jensen’s knee in warning. “Some of ‘em are catchy,” Jared admits, and Jensen presses a knuckle to his mouth in mirth.

“I want what I knew I could have,” Jared sings next to him, and he’s loud with it, off-key and just barely on beat, and Jensen turns the music back up.

“Don’t quit your day job on me,” Jensen says, but he can’t stop listening to Jared mutilate the rest of the song--of which he knows all the lyrics.

-

Jared’s legs are sore as hell when they finally park, and Jared winces as he clambers out of the passenger side, hand braced on the sun-roasted roof.

“Fuck,” he mutters, jerking his palm away as the heat threatens to bite through his skin.

Jensen shoves Jared’s spare pair of shades up into blonde hair, and leans against Jared’s arm.

“Home sweet home,” Jensen says, and from the quiet way he says it; Jared knows that Jensen’s just as unused to the idea of home as he is.

The house is spanish-colonial, and Jared spares a small moment of envy for the design. He’d grown up in a home as big and sprawling as Kane’s estate, and while that had attracted its fair share of attention; he’d gotten lost in the damn thing up until he was five.

Jensen’s house is large, even though it’s damn near miniscule by oil standards. The stucco is white and roughly-textured, and Jensen leads the way as they pass under the graceful curves and arches that guide the path to Jensen’s front door.

Jared whistles as he catches sight of the painted-tile staircase that leads up to what appears to be a balcony, and Jensen pulls up short.

“What,” Jensen asks in a rush, and Jared tugs him backwards so that Jensen’s spine pops against his chest.

“Stop worryin’ so much,” Jared says, and he kisses the crown of Jensen’s head; ignoring Jensen’s eternal grumbling.

“Your house is cool as shit,” Jared says, and Jensen squirms in Jared’s grasp to look up at him.

“Don’t think I forgot,” Jensen says abruptly, and Jared’s smile dims at the blankness of Jensen’s tone.

“Forgot what,” Jared asks, and Jensen stiffens in his arms. “That you’re oil,” Jensen says. “Your house is probably as big as Chris,’ so you don’t need to make me feel better about mine,” Jensen says, dislodging himself with a jerk.

Jared quivers in place; he feels like he just got shoved headfirst into an ice-bath and he barely remembers to follow Jensen.

Strike four million against Christian Kane. This is not how he wanted to have that conversation with Jensen.

Jared wants to call Chad, even though he’s gonna have to suffer an obligatory round of “I told you, you motherfucking idiot,” but Chad’s also the best at calming him down when he’s about to lose his shit.

Jensen unlocks the front door uncertainly, and Jared breathes out a hollow sigh of relief at the rush of AC.

“Look,” Jensen says hurriedly, almost as if he had forgotten, “my parents don’t know what I do for my job,” Jensen says, and he’s waving his hands around frantically.

Jared catches both palms in his own and bends down to make eye contact. 

“I won’t tell them I fuck pretty little boys like you for a living, alright?” Jared says, and he’s rewarded by the merlot-dark flush that peels across Jensen’s cheeks.

“Fucking ass,” Jensen says, but Jared bites his lip when he sees Jensen adjust the slightly thickened line of his dick in  _ Jared’s  _ shorts.

Jared’s halfway to leaning over and cupping Jensen’s bulge when Jensen straightens up with a Crest-wide smile.

“Ma!” He yells, and Jared’s dick shrivels in his briefs.

“Baby?” Jared hears and Jensen’s taking off at a jog toward his mother.

Mrs. Ackles is tiny, small enough to just brush Jensen’s chest, and Jared knows she’s probably about the same size as his own mother.

Jared is never awkward; he hasn’t had an intimate experience with the feeling since he was fourteen and gangly. He’d gotten over that real quick once he’d fucked Tiffany Mays in the back of his Dad’s BMW; then gotten into a subsequent fight with her runningback boyfriend for the infraction.

It’s hard to be insecure when you’ve got teenage girls  _ asking  _ to see your dick, but right now; Jared feels like he’s gonna be sick.

“Your daddy’s at work,” Mrs. Ackles says absently, and then she’s grinning up at him, pale neck straining to meet Jared’s eyes.

“Jensen Ross, who is this fine young man you brought to my house without telling me?” Jensen scratches at the back of his neck and Jared watches as Jensen slowly smirks at the blush Jared can feel heating up his cheeks.

“Jared Padalecki, ma’am,” Jared says; just like his own mama raised him. Jared bends the necessary ten or so inches needed to meet Mrs. Ackles face, and then scoops her into a warm hug.

She squeals in what Jared rightly ascertains is glee, and Jared grins over her shoulder at Jensen as he carefully lifts her a few inches from the tiled ground.

“And strong too, Jay,” she says, and Jared sets her down only for her to reach up and cup his cheek. “You,” she says kindly, “can call me Donna.”

Jared straightens to his full height and Donna shamelessly appraises his physique. 

“I don’t really see how you hid him from me, or hid him anywhere, for that matter,” she says, fixing Jensen with a glare.

“Boy’s built like a damn stadium.” 

Jared chuckles warmly; he’s gotten worse, and he holds out his hand for her to take. 

“Manners!” Donna yells, and then she’s pinching Jensen’s ass good-naturedly. “Take lessons,” she reprimands. 

“This boy wouldn’t bring someone over to his mama’s house without tellin’ her first!” Donna says, and Jensen snorts just a bit under his breath.

Donna squeezes his hand reassuringly, and navigates them all from the entryway to Jensen’s living room.

“Not that I’m not happy to meet you, sweetheart,” she says to Jared, “cause I sure am.” She releases his hand and points him to sit on a redwood-shade armchair.

Jared falls down where he’s been told, and he crosses his arms against his chest to stop from tugging Jensen right down on top of him.

Jensen settles on the couch next to his mother, and Jared studies the light streaming in from the bay window. It’s prettier when he can’t feel it.

“How’d it go,” Donna’s saying, and Jared’s left leg twitches without his permission.

“Fine,” Jensen says dully, and he’s lying faster than Jared’s seen him do before. Keeping his mother from knowing the extent of his pain must be important, then.

“That bitch say anything to you,” Donna asks plainly, and Jared can’t stop his Stepford-wife-scandalized gasp.

It does the trick; Jensen guffaws loudly and swipes at wet eyes, and Donna flushes a pretty shade that Jared’s only seen before on her son.

“I meant it,” Donna maintains, and then her face pales. “I don’t reckon Jensen’s told you yet--” she says, and Jensen lays a hand on her arm.

“He knows enough, Ma,” Jensen says, and Jared’s mouth is too firm and all he wants to do is scream that he does  _ not  _ know enough, and he’ll be damned until he’s been told every last sordid detail.

Instead, Jared claps his hands together and nods.

“How’s Chris,” Donna asks instead, and Jensen’s ears pink. “Good. I mean, not like, good, but. Okay.” Jensen says, and then he sits back with a sigh.

Jared follows the gentle slope of Jensen’s collarbone from where it leaks out from Jared’s shirt, and he’s scared. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Jensen’s mama says suddenly, and Jared pauses.

“You tell me what she said,” Donna repeats. Jared’s unsurprised; mothers have a sixth sense about that sort of thing, and Jensen’s a shit liar at the best of times.

“Ma; I don’t wanna talk about it,” Jensen says. “Past is past, I don’t live here anymore and m’not gonna see her again.”

“Jensen,” Donna says, and then, abruptly, she’s turning in Jared’s direction. “Jared.” She says, and Jared catches one dry palm up in his own.

“Yes’m,” Jared says. 

“I should’ve done somethin.’” Donna starts. “I should’ve sued or raised hell or something--but I didn’t, we didn’t--” she says, and Jensen topples forward, takes his mama into his arms.

“Hey. Hey. Ma, calm down. Breathe, alright?” Jensen says, and he splays one palm across his mother’s blonde hair.

Jared’s mystified; he wants to know the end of that sentence more than anything, but Jensen’s shaking his head and Jared knows he’s not gonna hear it right now.

“They would’ve won Ma, and you know it. Took us for all the money we got,” Jensen repeats, and Jared can hear the rote memorization in Jensen’s voice; he’s recited this spiel countless times before.

Jared’s about to go find the kitchen and bring them some water; anything to make things okay again, when Jared hears the chime of the doorbell.

Jensen looks confused at the sound and Jared can see that Donna is trying to wipe her face and stand simultaneously.

“Hey,” Jared says gently. “I got it.”

Jensen smiles up at him like Jared’s his personal savior, and Jared clips his hip on a side table as he leaves, in the effort to keep that look from never leaving Jensen’s face.

Jared’s grinning all the way to the door, and his smile is still etched on his face even as he opens it.

It doesn’t break until Christian speaks, actually.

Chris is in a suit; grey steel, and he’s got his hat in one hand and the other in his pocket.

Jared’s got all his Stetsons locked in a closet back home, and he wonders if Jensen likes that; if Jen would like to see him all dressed up.

“Jesus,” Chris spits, and then he straightens, face wiped of all bravado. “M’here for Jensen,” Chris says. “I need to talk to him. Apologize,” Chris says.

Jared leans against the doorway, one hip braced on the shade-cool arch of Jensen’s hinges, and stares.

He looks at Chris long enough to make it uncomfortable, and then Jared reaches into his pocket for his phone.

He speed dials Chad all without looking away from Chris’ face; Jared can see that Chris knows he’s got the upper hand here. 

Chris’ free hand is locked into a fist, and he’s bracing himself for a fight; Jared can tell.

Chad picks up on the second-to-last ring, and Jared rolls his eyes at the sound of a squeaking bed frame. 

“You’ve reached Fuck It and Stuff It; we’ll keep her mouth shut so you can--” Chad begins, and Jared cuts him off with a smile in his voice.

“You know who I got standing here,” Jared begins, and Jared hears the bed come to a standstill.

“That one bitch from Frozen,” Chad guesses. “The cold one.” 

“Nope,” Jared says. “Try again.”

“Jailbait?” Chad asks hopefully, and Jared laughs, chuckling even harder when he sees Chris’ eyes narrow at the display Jared’s putting on for him.

“Last try,” Jared says. Chad’s voice slip-slides into that lower register Chad’s got when he’s about to get into something illegal, and Jared’s stomach twists in anticipation.

“One cocksucking ex, goes by the name of Kane?” Chad says, and Jared hums in agreement.

“See,” Jared says, “he’s plannin’ on turnin’ around, gettin’ back in his fancy truck and driving out to Avila’s so I can have a nice long talk with him.”

Chris opens his mouth at that, but Jared holds up one hand warningly.

“Thought you might like to swing by,” Jared adds, and he can hear Chad standing, muffled goodbye to whatever piece of ass he’s with right now.

“Nothing like Tex-Mex to get me in the mood,” Chad says, and Jared hangs up.

Chris shoves his hat back down over his head and stands his ground, both hands red and taut against his sides.

“Two against one’s a cowards fight,” Chris says, and Jared steps into Chris’ personal space so rapidly that Chris’ eyes widen in shock.

“I said we were gonna talk,” Jared says, heated by the assumption.

“But if it’s a fight you’re lookin’ for,” Jared continues, chest to chest with Kane, “Then Chad’ll only be there to buy me a beer after I’m done with you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> throw comments at your starving artist   
> (harass me at brosamigos.tumblr.com and I'll drop an excerpt from next chapter BECAUSE IT'S A GOOD DAY)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey team, potentially triggering elements below; nothing is mentioned in detail.

Jensen doesn’t think anything of it when Jared strides back inside the house with an apologetic smile.

His mama has slapped him across the chest twice in the time it takes Jared to finish his business at the door.

“You bring  _ that  _ home and don’t tell me?” She hisses, eyes slightly reddened from her impromptu cry-session.

“I could’ve--I could’ve cooked him a steak, or something,” she says helplessly, and Jensen snorts, dodging her third slap.

“He can cook his own steak, ma,” Jensen offers, but she’s still pouting, and Jensen would find it adorable if he weren’t so worked up from his all-too long encounter with Rebecca.

And then there’s Chris, who’s going to ignore everything in front of his face, as usual, regardless of evidence to the contrary. 

Jensen doesn’t realize he’s white-knuckled until his mother’s small hand settles over his fist in sympathy. “I shouldn’t have made you come back,” she says quietly, and Jensen smiles at her softly.

“I was already comin’ before I told you, Ma,” Jensen says firmly. “He used to be my best friend.” 

Jensen twitches uncomfortably in his seat.

“I used to love him,” Jensen says. “I owe it to him, and his daddy.” Jensen’s bracing his elbows on his knees and his mother looks like she’s about to start sobbing all over him again, and Jensen doesn’t think he’s got enough strength for round two.

Jensen hears his front door click shut and his brows rise as he thinks about how long Jared’s just spent at the door.

He glances at his mother and can tell she’s thinking the same thing; she’s halfway to rising already.

Before either of them can say anything; Jared’s striding back through the long hallway; heavy footfalls on patterned tile.

Jared’s got one hand slung deep into mesh pockets and he inclines his head sweetly at Jensen’s mom. Donna blushes; honestly, Jensen thinks dryly, and then Jared’s fixing that dirty-hot glare on Jensen’s face.

“Who was that,” Jensen asks, and Jared’s eyes darken as he laughs. Jensen squirms at the full-body roll Jared unconsciously gives every time he’s amused, and Jensen can tell his mother notices his reaction.

Fuck him.

“Chad,” Jared says apologetically, and Jensen chokes a bit and coughs his way back to breathing.

“Logically,” Jared’s saying, “I’m not a fan of domestic terrorism, so I told him I would meet him somewhere else for lunch,” Jared says, hands spread.

“Oh,” Donna exclaims, “I wouldn’t have minded if you brought your little friend,” she says, standing and crossing over to the bookshelf across from the bay window.

“Believe me, Ma,” Jensen says, “You’da minded this friend.” His mother looks confused and when she turns to face Jared to confirm it; Jared’s nodding vigorously. 

“He’s uh, he’s an acquired taste, ma’am,” Jared says sheepishly, and Jensen’s eyes are fixed on the way Jared plays with the hem of his t-shirt as he talks.

“I really like your son and I don’t want your meeting my best friend to make y’all think less of me,” Jared says, and Jensen would laugh if he couldn’t tell how earnest Jared is; the way he tucks a stray strand of hair back up into his top-knot.

Jensen watches Jared cross his arms and smile down at his mother.

“We’re gonna get Tex-Mex and then I’ll be headed back over here,” Jared states in that firm way of his. “If you don’t mind, that is,” Jared amends, and you could knock Jensen over with a feather.

Jared Padalecki, bent over backwards to appease Jensen’s mama. 

“No, no,” Donna smiles, and she reaches over to pat Jensen’s hand, as if Jensen were the one who needs reassurance.

“Jay never comes to see me anymore,” Donna explains, and Jensen stiffens; her voice is only half in jest. “You go have fun and when you come back,” Donna says, smile bright, “you can probably meet Jensen’s daddy!”

Jared’s smile turns downright predatory, and Jensen recoils minutely into the cushions.

He’ll have to deadbolt the door so Jared can’t bulldoze his way back inside. 

There’s no way he’s allowing Jared to meet the entire family on his first go around; meeting Jensen’s mother was enough of an ordeal.

“I’d be real happy to,” Jared says, and Jensen can picture it; Jared, Stetson adding two more inches to an already obscene height, bolo tie and a western-wear shirt.

Jared wears The South well; he’s a homegrown boy and Jensen’s an idiot for never being able to tell. Jared handles himself like he’s always had money. 

Even when Jared had explained how he and Chad had come into too much money, too fast, Jensen should’ve known.

What kind of kid buys a house that big and manages to  _ keep  _ it, not squander it loose on women and bad investments?

Jared’s never lied to him; Jensen thinks darkly; he was just too stupid to ask.

Some of his thoughts must leak out onto his countenance because Jared hauls him up by the arm; in front of Jensen’s mother, and crushes him close to his chest, Jensen’s head pillowed on Jared’s collarbone.

“Stop that,” Jared whispers into his ear under the guise of a kiss.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jared adds, and Jensen blushes hot; Jared can read him that openly?

Jared’s hand finds its way around the back of Jensen’s head, and from the corresponding shriek that his mother gives; Jensen knows the picture they must present.

“Jesus,” Jensen mutters, but Jared only holds him tighter, and Jensen could swear that Jared was grinning over top of Jensen’s head, down at Donna.

“I don’t know why he hates hugs so much,” Jared teases, obviously not to him. Donna grunts in agreement and Jensen can’t see but he feels her step closer to their embrace.

“He’s an old man on his deathbed,” Donna says seriously, and Jensen can’t begrudge Jared holding him this close when he feels Jared’s laughter ripple through the connection.

-

Jared’s unsurprised to find Chad already in Avila’s parking lot when he swings in.

The place is a hole-in-the-wall, but it’s got some of the best Tex-Mex Jared’s ever been exposed to (don’t tell his mama that) and Jared’s just grateful to kill two birds with one stone.

Chad’s leaning against a white Jag, and Jared shakes his head in amusement. Chad likes things a bit more flashy than Jared’s got the stomach for, but this is Chad’s attempt to be understated for him, and Jared appreciates the effort.

Chad’s wearing a black Stetson, courtesy of the sun, and Jared sighs from the tips of his toes.

“Couldn’t rent yourself a Rolls,” Jared asks dryly, and Chad’s grin is blazing. “What, and show you up on your big day,” Chad says, mock surprise coloring his tone.

“I done some wild shit for this money,” Chad says, launching into a familiar disclaimer. “I’m damn well gonna spend it.” 

Jared can understand that compulsion well enough, and he shades his eyes to see whether or not Kane’s truck is in the cramped lot.

Jared finds it tucked in between a Honda and a Nissan, out of place with the shine of its paint-job and obvious enhancements.

Kane’s truck is black, but it stands a foot taller than any other car at the place and Jared sighs once more, for good measure.

“Jensen know you here,” Chad asks, and Jared raises a hand to act as a makeshift visor over his eyes. 

“Yeah, I need him even more pissed off at me right now,” Jared says sardonically, and Chad guffaws, doubles over, hands on thighs.

“You’re a goddamn idiot, J,” Chad says, and Jared nods in agreement. “He ripped you a new one, didn’t he?” 

Jared scowls and motions for Chad to follow him. 

“I may have overreacted,” Jared grits out, and Chad cannot let this go; his mouth is permanently carved into a grin.

“So no more Funeral Crashers,” Chad says, with a hint of what Jared hopes is not melancholy. 

“Not if I want Jen to leave my nuts attached to my body,” Jared begins mournfully, and Chad claps him on the back, heavy-handed swing of I-told-you-so.

Jared’s inside Avila’s first, and he immediately backs up against the wall out of habit. Avila’s is small, certainly not built for the plethora of people that pack the joint, and Jared’s worth about three of every other person in here.

His head remains permanently bowed until he and Chad can find a seat.

Chad scoots out ahead of him, tall but more manageably so, and Jared’s so focused on not banging his head on anything untoward that he practically walks past Kane’s booth.

Chad slides in on the opposite side, crunching himself up next to the window. Jared’s grateful for the fresh air, and he drops down heavily next to Chad.

There are two menus before them; Kane obviously let the waiter know that he had company, and Jared’s interested to know what Kane thinks of this impromptu meeting.

Jared’s been ordering the same thing from here ever since he came down to visit family as a child, and Chad’s been here about as often as Jared.

Jared pushes the menu to the center of the table and Chad follows suit, drumming his fingers on pale thighs.

“I just wanna say I really like the Western vibe we got goin’ here,” Chris says, dry grin stretching across his face.

Kane’s hat is abandoned on the empty space beside him, and Jared wonders what he and Jensen look like, side by side like this.

“You leave your hat in the car on accident, Padalecki,” Kane continues. He leans back in his seat and tips his beer to them in a salute.

Chad’s body is tense next to Jared and Jared lays one hand on Chad’s unoccupied knee. It takes little to get Chad raring to go at the best of times, and Chad’s a new beast in this kind of heat.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the narration,” Jared says dryly, “cause I really do, but that’s not why we’re here.”

Kane sits upright, clink of glass against aged wood.

“We’re here because you’re afraid of me,” Kane says pleasantly, runs one thumb over the labeling of his Corona.

“We’re here cause you think Jay might choose me,” Kane says, and the cutlery clatters as Jared slams an open palm down onto the tabletop.

Jared’s leaning forward, weight braced on that one hand, and Chad slaps a heavy paml down against Jared’s shoulder and jerks him back upright.

Their waiter makes an appearance then, pretty, lithe and dark-haired. She tucks her hair behind one ear and blushes summer-warm when she gets a good look at them.

Chad’s a little occupied with pressing Jared back into the booth and Jared grins up at her, full wattage of his charm.

“Can I have the Chili Relleno, chicken, please?” Jared asks, and the girl giggles under the scrutiny. Chad’s hand remains locked on Jared’s flesh, but he peeks around Jared’s brawn to deliver his own personal brand of charm.

“Can I have the Pollo con Calabaza,” Chad asks, and Jared winces as he thinks about the hot box they’re about to make in this restaurant.

“Can I get you anything to drink while I’m here,” she asks, tucking her notebook into her apron pocket. “M’sorry someone wasn’t here earlier,” she says balefully, and Jared waves his free hand.

“Don’t worry about it; we were late,” Jared says. “I’ll take a Corona, like my friend here,” Jared says, motioning to Kane. Kane’s arms are slung around the entirety of his portion of the booth, and he smiles when Jared mentions him.

Chad requests the same, and then the trio is alone again, and Jared’s anger bubbles forth so quickly that he smacks his knee on the underside of the table.

“Jensen’s a grown ass man,” Jared says carefully, “M’not here to fight over him,” Jared adds, in case he was unclear.

Chad hums in support next to him, and Kane snorts. “So that caveman shit yesterday,” Kane says, and Jared remembers Jensen’s words and has the grace to blush in apology.

“That was outta hand and outta line,” Jared says firmly, and Chad makes some weird strangled sound in his throat.

Chad’s never seen Jared take down like this, and Jared knows that if Jensen hadn’t given him a come to Jesus moment; Chad never would have.

As it is; Jared understands that he’s got issues with authority. But right now; he owes Kane this courtesy. It itches white-burnt under his skin to do it, but right is right.

Kane stares at Jared for a second, Corona fisted in his right hand and then he nods, once.

Jared clears his throat and Chad relaxes beside him.

“Now that that’s settled,” Jared begins, “Keep your hands to yourself where he’s concerned,” Jared says and it’s Kane’s turn to stiffen.

“You scared him yesterday,” Jared says, and Kane snorts. “Jay’s never been scared’a me a day in his damn life,” Kane says. 

“You’re blowin’ shit outta proportion to make your life easier,” Kane spits. “Gotta cut me out of the picture to make him stay with you for good?”

Jared’s surprised as his level of self-control; he’s pretty sure it’s not a good thing. He’s calmer the angrier he gets, and from the low grunt beside him; he knows Chad can sense it too.

“Nah,” Jared says pleasantly. “You and your mama did that all on your own.”

“Mary Mother of Fuck,” Chad blasphemies, and their waiter strides up, beers and entrees balanced on a tray over her shoulder.

She smiles congenially at them all and warns them that their food is hot; please don’t touch the plate until it cools down.

Jared’s smile is strained around the edges but he doubts she notices, and she leaves for another table almost as quickly as she arrived.

Chad makes some kind of hasty prayer and digs in, but Jared’s still focused on the pale splotch of Kane’s countenance.

“Keep my mother’s name outta your mouth, Padalecki,” Kane says forcefully, and Chad waves his spoon in the air.

“Can you hold it the fuck together while I finish my food, Kane?” Chad asks, fiddling with the open top of his beer. “I just need some quality time with this,” Chad says, motioning to his meal, and Jared hides his smirk in his napkin.

“I wouldn’t have to mention her at all if you gave two shits about Jensen,” Jared continues and Kane blanches visibly at the accusation.

“He’s the only person I ever gave a damn about,” Kane begins, but Jared’s already shaking his head; he’s not about to listen to that bullshit.

“That right?” Jared asks. “So you  _ didn’t _ bring him down here, confused as fuck about what you wanted from him,” Jared says, “and then not notice that he was fucked up after a private talk with  _ your _ mom?”

Jared flips his fork up into the air and it smacks his palm with a dull thwack. “You even notice him?” Jared says. “You really paying him that much attention?”

Chris is leaning forward and Jared is matching him on the opposite side. Chad’s digging into his food with the gusto he reserves for eating ass but Jared can see that his eyes are still focused on the proceedings. 

“Jensen’s always hated my ma,” Chris grits out, and Jared laughs. 

“Nice. You think Jen’s the kind of person to just hate on somebody for no reason?” 

Chris is already shaking his head and Jared spears his knife into his meat for the lack of a better alternative. 

“Ma’s a little too much to handle sometimes,” Chris admits in a drawl, “but we were fucking young, man.”

Chris spreads his hands in supplication. “Sometimes, you see monsters that ain’t there.” Chris still doesn't look completely at ease, and that rankles Jared more than if Chris had just admitted that he knew what was going on. 

“Your Ma sounds like the goddamned Virgin,” Chad supplies in between mouthfuls, and Chris sneers at him. 

“Don't think I don't remember your mama, Murray,” Chris says and Jared’s arm flies out so quickly he’s shocked at the inbred instinct. 

Chad’s chest connects with Jared’s forearm like clockwork and he makes Jared work to shove his back flat against the polyester of the booth. 

“Cheap shot, Kane,” Jared says. “This stays between me and you.”

Jared doesn't move his arm, but he does smile. “I brought a teammate,” Jared grins. “Maybe you can text your lawyer and he can drop by for backup.”

Chris’ face has blanched and then reddened and Jared’s always liked to poke the bear. 

“Ask your mother what happened,” Jared says carefully. He doesn't know anything but he wouldn't tell Chris even if he did. 

It's not his rodeo, even if he intends to spearhead the campaign if Jensen’s unable to. 

Chris upends his Corona, and the glass clatters a bit as he sets it back down, untouched quesadillas before him. 

“Anything else you need from me?” Chris says blandly, and Chad’s still vibrating in his seat. 

“Not if I don't want a restraining order,” Jared says, and Chad snorts. 

“I got enough money to buy his way outta that, plus the one I'm gonna get when I smash your damn face in,” Chad hisses, and it's time to fucking go. 

Jared’s knee bumps the underside of the table on his scramble out, and Chris’ face is an unhealthy shade of scarlet. 

He pulls Chad up behind him by the upper arm and Chad’s mouth is pressed together in a way that means Jared needs to drive back. 

“Your mother,” Jared repeats, “then Jensen, if he wants.” 

Jared doesn't want to offer Kane this clause, but he's generally a fair person, and Jensen’s already gonna skin his ass alive once he inevitably finds out about this. 

Jared leaves two twenties in their wake and steers his best friend toward the exit with one palm flat on his back. 

-

Jared’s gone for an hour before Jensen’s dad comes home, briefcase kicked into one corner as soon as he slams the door behind him.

Alan’s always slightly frazzled after a day at the office, good-natured ribbing at Jensen for settling down into a career where he gets to sit and  _ write  _ all day, and how’s his home office treating him?

Jensen pales and then flushes every time, because his Dad never needs to know exactly what it is he does outside of that chair.

Alan’s silent on his entry and his mother is in the kitchen, whipping together a five alarm chili that’s gonna have Jensen sweating his ass off for the entirety of tomorrow.

His father’s face crumbles into surprise at seeing him and Jensen drags a hand through his hair. “Hey old man,” Jensen quips, and Alan shoves his face into the plane of his shoulder, even though Jensen’s got about two inches on the man in question.

“You ever go outside your apartment?” Alan says, holding him at arm’s length and scanning his frame. Jensen can’t help the nervous flutter of fingers at the nape of his neck.

“Only to harass the kids next door,” Jensen says quickly, and Alan laughs so loudly that Jensen can hear his mother hip-check a drawer closed.

“Alan?” She calls, her voice around the corner. “Alan, Jay’s here,” she yells, and Alan rolls his eyes. 

“Must’ve missed him standin’ right outside the door, then,” Alan says, and Jensen snorts at the disgruntled noise his mother makes.

“You look good kid,” Alan says, and Jensen’s mother chooses that moment to come around the corner,  _ Put Some South In Your Mouth  _ apron dusted with seasoning. 

“Jensen,” she says shortly, and Jensen barely refrains from rolling his eyes up to high heaven. “Jensen brought a boy home,” she finishes, and okay, that’s not where he expected that to go at all.

Alan raises a brow and Jensen’s head swims with love for his father. They’ve come a long way from that first morning that Jensen crawled out of the closet. Alan’s awkward at best, but he’s not malicious, and he’s never thought Chris was near good enough for Jensen.

“S’long as it’s not Kane; I’ll be damned,” Alan says, and Jensen sighs; old habits die hard.

“Dad,” Jensen begins, but his father slings one arm around his neck and drags him in the direction of his study.

Jensen’s been reprimanded in this room more times than he can count. He and Chris, back when they were just friends and Chris had convinced him to play dress up in every last one of his father’s work suits.

Back when they ruined a perfectly good pair of Lucchese boots by running them over with Chris’ new Corvette, (that one was an unlucky mistake), and Jensen squirms in latent anxiety.

His father’s desk is teak and just as formidable as it was ten years ago.

Jensen can see the corner of wood where his father had allowed him to scrawl his initials, and Jensen runs his thumb over the JA in relief.

The walls are cluttered with newspaper clippings and various ribbons that Jensen’s won over the years. If Jensen squints, he can read the title to his history essay on Stalingrad, and the thought that his dad saved that A makes him blink hard.

Baseball trophies line the entirety of Alan’s back wall, and Jensen’s knee twitches in phantom sympathy.

His dad’s loosening his tie and he tugs the silk free to dangle over back of his leather chair. Jensen feels like he’s in the principal’s office.

“This boy,” Alan leads with, and Jensen slouches back in his chair, bare legs wide. “His name’s Jared and I met him at a bar,” Jensen says, and he’s already blushing thinking about how they really met, remembers the split of the Hellhound in his ass.

Jared’s playing safe with him; he hasn’t mentioned the toy in months and Jensen trembles at the thought of it.

“He’s a real good guy; he came down cause he knew it was gonna be hard for me,” Jensen pauses. “Big Kane never did me wrong,” Jensen says.

Alan nods; he’d always liked Big Kane; it was impossible not to like someone who lived like he was three men all at once.

“If he’s so good,” Alan says, “where’s he at right now?” 

Jensen rolls his eyes. “He’s getting lunch with the friend who flew down here with him,” Jensen explains. “Chad’s a fucking nightmare on his good days, and he’s not much to look at on a day as hot as this,” Jensen says.

Alan grins as he rolls his cuffs up to his elbows and Jensen leans his head back so that his neck settles on mud-red leather to point at the ceiling.

“You talk to her?” Alan says abruptly, without preamble. Jensen’s neck locks and he thinks his dad’s a fucking mean bastard.

“Define talk,” Jensen says carefully, and Alan curses under his breath.

“This was a fucking mistake,” his dad says, and Jensen sits up to face him.

“No.” 

“I came down for Chris, an’ I did that. I spoke at Big Kane’s funeral, and Chris got through it.” Jensen’s nodding firmly, self-justification, and his palms are open and clasped around his kneecaps.

Alan’s brow twists and then he’s standing, coming around the side of his desk so quickly that Alan bruises his hip on the edge.

Jensen wants to scramble away when his father kneels before him, but he remains motionless, schools his face into something stoic.

This is not what he came here for.

-

Chad’s uncharacteristically quiet in Jensen’s driveway, and Jared steals glances out of his peripheral for the entirety of the ride back.

Chad’s hands are fisted in his lap and Jared’s grinding his teeth down to a fine point.

Chad has his back 100% of the time, and Jared’s so fucking  _ hot  _ for Kane’s insult to Chad’s mom that he’s this close to driving back to Vaquero and settling this the way he’s been dying to since he and Chad landed.

Jared goes blind and silent with rage and neither of them will be able to come back from that kind of unleashed fury.

Jared claps a hand on Chad’s shoulder as he opens his door. Chad doesn’t move, and Jared heaves out a sigh.

“I’m gonna ask Jen to drive my car so we can go pick your rental up from Avila’s, man,” Jared says. He’s learned to never phrase anything as an option when Chad’s this crimson, and Chad nods stiffly when Jared finishes speaking.

“And no, I don’t trust you to drive,” Jared adds. “We’ll follow Jen back to the hotel and figure shit out there,” Jared appeases. Chad’s back deflates from the rigid line it took on, and Jared slams the door behind him.

He jogs past the upside down U-shaped passageways of Jensen’s home and tries the door before he remembers that this isn’t his house.

The door opens soundlessly, though and Jared raises one brow in surprise. He steps inside cautiously and catches sight of a briefcase haphazardly discarded in the corner next to what looks like some sort of ficus.

_ Ackles  _ is embossed on the handle, and Jared closes the door behind him with a soft click. 

Jensen’s dad must be home, then.

Jared’s about to call out his arrival, and the fact that the door was left unlocked, when he hears Jensen’s voice emanating from a room on the right.

Jared veers in that direction on instinct, and he pulls up short when he hears another man’s voice; Jensen’s dad, he suspects.

“I wasn’t gonna make a goddamned scene,” Jensen’s saying, and this is Jared’s cue to turn the fuck around.

Jared re-ties his hair into a bun and inches a bit closer.

Jensen’s dad snorts. “Sure, kid. What if she went in for round two, huh?” He says, and Jensen makes a painful sound in his mouth.

Jensen’s dad is quick to apologize, but Jensen’s voice comes out granite.

“I get it, Dad. I didn’t know they were gonna hold me down last time,” Jensen says, and Mr. Ackles is trying to break in, but Jensen’s voice is rising into a slender line and Jared’s knees are locking up.

“You remember,” Jensen says. “It was a Saturday. Chris was supposed to meet me but he got held up with Big Kane,” Jensen says. 

“They volunteer on Saturdays,” Jensen adds, and Jared’s gonna be sick because Jensen doesn’t even sound like himself; he’s untouchable and Jared’s honestly about to head back to the car because this is too raw.

“Prolly coulda fought off one guy, but two?” Jensen laughs. “Nah. They were twice my size.” Jensen sounds like he’s stretching and Mr. Ackles is so quiet.

“Altar looks like it should be soft, got a damn tablecloth on top, right?” Jensen says. “I dunno, wood digging into your stomach don’t matter much when your boyfriend’s mom’s got a grown man whippin’ your back open while she prays the gay away,”Jensen says, and Jared’s forearm comes across his mouth in a weak effort to staunch the flow of vomit.

“Jensen.” Mr. Ackles says firmly. “We ain’t doing this again. You done it too many times before. I know--I know what happened, son,” Mr. Ackles says carefully, and Jared knows his eyes must be wild.

Does anyone really know?

Do they deserve to?

“Do you?” Jensen asks, and this time his voice sounds preschool-small and Jared’s horrified to find that his face is  _ wet. _

In a second; he’s gonna wipe his face and knock on the door and tell Jensen that they need to go and pick Chad’s car up from Avila’s.

He’s gonna grin and Jensen’s gonna look up at him with doe eyes and Jared’s gonna play pretend, one last time.

And later, he’s gonna confront Jensen about every sentence he just overheard, and then he and Chad are going to figure everything out, just as planned.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hokay; y'all KNOW I need your thoughts on this chapter, squad


	14. Chapter 14

Jensen’s not overfond of flying, and he’s even less into the idea when he catches sight of the way Jared’s fingers are steepled in his lap.

Chad’s on Jared’s other side, and he’s got his shades pulled low over his eyes.

Jared’s said about four total words since yesterday evening, when he knocked on the door of his father’s study and asked if Jensen wouldn't mind helping him and Chad pick up his rental.

Jared’s been pressed so close to his side that Jensen’s having trouble breathing. He wants to be irritated but he can't be, not with the way Jared’s hands have slithered up his body, cupping the back of Jensen’s neck possessively.

“Jared,” Jensen whispers, and Jared turns to face him.

“You okay baby?” Jared asks, and Jensen wrinkles his brow.

“I'm fine,” Jensen says cautiously, “same as the last time you asked.”

Jared’s face remains tight, and Jensen squirms in his seat, legs hanging loose.

“I promise Jared,” Jensen says. “I'm fucking great.” Jensen winces at the way his words slice, but he's tired; he's seen someone he thought he'd never have to face again and he's one misstep away from losing it.

“He's fucking peachy J,” Chad says, and Jensen snorts a bit because he didn't realize Chad was still awake.

Jared makes some sort of bastard growl at the defense and it pulls Jensen up short.

He's not used to Jared providing Chad with anything but the fondest concern and that noise doesn't ring like a joke whatsoever.

“ _You_ okay?” Jensen tries, leaning carefully into Jared’s space.

Jared’s leg is rocking in place and his right hand flexes in and out, heavy brick-fist and tendons.

Jared doesn't answer and Jensen’s suddenly wary.

Jensen’s about to scream but they're on the last leg of their journey home and Jensen needs to keep it together.

Their flight attendant passes by and Jared reaches out one long arm, unintentionally belting Jensen into his own seat.

“Can I get Jack on the rocks,” Jared asks, and Chad sits up a bit, shoves his shades further up his nose.

“J-man?” Chad says, but when Jensen glances at Jared he’s not listening; he’s still drawling out his order to the pretty blonde thing with the flushed face.

“No problem,” she coos, and Jensen’s chest is suddenly tight-hot from where Jared’s got him locked in his seat.

“Get the fuck off,” Jensen hisses, and Cornsilk raises a manicured eyebrow at him. Jared immediately loosens his hold and his mouth is firm but grim when he looks down at Jensen.

Jared has four drinks and Chad upends his fifth before Jared can reach fast enough.

-

Chad takes Jared’s car back to Jared’s-- _alone, no I insist motherfuckers_

And Jared’s hand twitches as he allows his best friend to reverse his i8 out of a densely packed long-term parking lot.

Chad’s eyes are wild as he wheels out, and even Jensen winces at the sound of crisp rubber on asphalt.

“Fuck, you sure you shouldn’t have like, written out a will for your car?” Jensen says, and Jared glances down at him with a grunt.

“You getting his Jag once he wraps that around a tree off I-10?” Jensen tries again, but Jared only hooks both of their bags over one shoulder and walks around to Jensen’s passenger side.

Jensen unlocks the door quietly and he can’t catch his breath even as he slides behind the wheel.

Jensen’s leg is jittering so hard that he squeaks when Jared claps one large palm down on it, mouth quirked in that way Jensen knows so well.

“You want me to drive?” Jared offers, and Jensen sighs. “M’fine,” Jensen replies, slamming his door shut behind him.

“Are you good?” Jensen tries, one last time, just to be on the safe side.

Jared squeezes his kneecap once and then his hand drifts down and away. Jensen almost shifts them into neutral in an effort to keep the warmth.

“Can we just talk about it at your place.” Jared says, and it’s phrased like a question but Jared’s not even close to the territory of asking.

-

Jared carries a bag in each hand and sidesteps Jensen even as he reaches for his own. Jensen rolls his eyes so hard that he must almost concuss himself; then he’s stomping up the steps of his apartment building, second-floor brick.

Jared likes being here, likes the cocoon of Jensen-space, and it makes his stomach roil violently to realize that Jensen’s probably gonna kick him out after this conversation.

He briefly entertains the thought of slipping his hands down Jensen’s pants to reach supple skin, but he flushes at the thought. He’s not gonna take a goodbye fuck when Jensen doesn’t know that they’re nearing the end of the book.

Jensen reaches out blindly for a light switch as they pass over the threshold, and he grunts a bit when Jared accidentally clips him with the edge of the duffel.

“Sorry,” Jared says, and Jensen’s hand finally smacks against the wall and Jared has to squint at the sudden onslaught of brightness.

Jensen’s place is pretty neat; there’s a corner of bubblewrap and styrofoam peanuts and Jared has about thirty-six seconds to get his macho posturing for what that might mean out of the way.

Jensen’s talking and Jared clicks back online even after he carefully drops his own Cowboys-themed carry-on right next to Jensen’s door.

He’s gonna need to grab it and keep swinging, just as soon as Jensen’s heard his side of the story.

Jared itches to shoot Chad a text: _Come get me, Jen’s about to break up with my ass_ but he’s never been weak and he’s not about to start now.

“Just in the corner over there,” Jensen’s saying, and Jared takes that as his cue to drop Jensen’s bag off right next to the couch.

“You want a beer?” Jensen asks; he’s not facing Jared, his ass is bent down so far that he’s partially inside his refrigerator and Jared’s hand is cupping Jensen’s cheek in some kind of muscle memory.

Jensen’s only in athletic shorts and the fucking give of Jensen’s ass deliberately fucks with Jared’s resolve. Jensen makes a noise that sounds ridiculously like a coo and Jared snatches his hand back so hard that he pops himself in the abdomen.

Jensen turns around, Blue Moon suspended by the neck.

His collarbone is cherry-pink and Jared hates when he gets like this, too delectable for his own good, faint lines and stuttering heartbeat. Jared wants to kill him.

“I forgot,” Jensen says, and his pretty-boy blush deepens into something riper, ugly.

Jared tugs his walls back up at the sight and he crosses his arms with a heavy sigh.

“You drank your way through the first class minibar,” Jensen continues, “so this might be overkill.”

Jared’s unmoving, and he knows he’s coming off like an ass but he’s so unsure of how to go about this, how to broach something that’s so clearly sensitive.

He’s afraid.

“Jensen,” Jared says and Jensen’s slim body stutters back, wet clink of browned glass. Jared’s gonna be sick.

“No baby, no,” Jared says and he reaches out for Jensen’s hips, steadies them under sun-warm palms. Jensen remains motionless but Jared can practically see the trot of his heartbeat.

“Right before we left we went and picked up Chad’s rental,” Jared says, and Jensen’s nodding, distrustful.

“Your front door was unlocked and when I came inside,” Jared says, “I heard your voice; you were with your dad in his office.”

Jensen’s trembling now; he _knows,_ and Jared’s almost about to choke; he’ll call a foul if it means not having to own up to this.

Jared can see the slat of fading sunlight peel across Jensen’s high cheekbones, and how are his lips already gnawed down to the quick?

“I wasn’t listenin’ Jen,” Jared says wearily; he’s already on death row. “I was just comin’ to find you.”

Jensen’s trembling so hard that Jared doubts he can even feel it, and Jared removes one hand from Jensen’s waist to pluck him free of the beer.

Jared’s own hand is unsteady when he plunks them against the counter, and Jensen’s eyes are so wide that his pupils are swallowed up by the whites.

“I can’t--I can’t keep that from you,” Jared continues, emboldened by the fact that Jensen hasn’t punched him square across the face yet.

“But I heard what I heard,” Jared says, “and you need to know that I don’t take that lying down.” Jared steps back a fraction, hesitating when Jensen sways in place.

“S’not how I am Jay,” Jared says and Jensen flinches at the nickname; Jared’s only ever been allowed to use the other.

Jensen’s so frighteningly quiet that Jared can taste rust in his mouth and he turns quickly, uncharacteristic stumble against the wall leading to Jensen’s living room and the exit.

“So what, you heard about my big gay secret and now you're out?”

Jared’s spine stiffens and he's turning but he's not quick enough to block the right hook Jensen sends his way.

It connects painfully to Jared’s jaw line and he stumbles backwards, more in shock than actual momentum.

Jensen’s cradling his fist in his other hand, and he's blinking, wide and wet.

“Jesus _fuck,_ ” Jared mutters, hand automatically flying up to caress the wound.

“Don't want anything to do with me now?” Jensen says, and his voice is starting to carry.

“Christ, Jen, it's not like that, that's not--” Jared tries, but then Jensen is running at him and there's the distinct possibility that Jared’s about to get cold-clocked again.

“Jensen!” Jared yells, and he catches Jensen by the wrists just as Jen slams into his body at a dead run.

Jensen grunts loudly with impact and Jared tightens his grip as Jensen really starts to struggle against him.

“Sweetheart,” Jared tries, and that only serves to make Jensen resist that much harder.

“Asshole,” Jensen says, and Jared’s stupid for letting that sting, but it does, nonetheless.

“Jensen,” Jared grinds out, and this time his voice is reaching that register that demands compliance. He hates getting there but he's never been good at stopping the descent.

“I'm not fucking leaving you,” Jared says, and Jensen pauses infinitesimally before his struggles renew, twice as vigorously.

“You can get the fuck out, I don't give a shit,” Jensen hollers, “you weren't--Jesus Jared, you weren’t supposed to hear that!”

Jensen’s mouth wobbles, actually trembles, and Jared presses both wrists into his right hand, lifting his left to cup Jensen’s cheek.

“Baby,” Jared sighs, “you gotta understand something.”

Jensen’s still shivering but his pulls are more instinct than actual rage and Jared pushes himself closer still.

“M’never gonna be pissed at you for this,” Jared says.

“But I'm not--I'm not a calm man,” Jared explains. “I'll fuck someone up and not think twice,” Jared says, “but I can't--Jen I can't _handle_ this--”

Jared’s floundering; he's never one for talking; he'd much rather demonstrate, and Jensen’s so volatile right now and they _beat_ him; they mutilated him inside a _cathedral_ and Jared doesn't know the meaning of forgiveness.

Jensen crumbles, and Jared releases both hands in order to steady him.

Jensen just, sags into his chest, and that frightens Jared more than the screaming, more than the pickled bruise of his jaw.

“They uh, it was dark.” Jensen says, and his voice is muffled by Jared’s white t-shirt, spit moist and warming.

“It was dark so I couldn't see at first and I yelled for him--for Chris; I mean,” Jensen says, and he shivers, just once.

Jared’s hand travels from Jensen’s waist and up the small of his back, settled in the dip of his spine.

The top of Jensen’s hair is sun-gold and Jared has an out of body experience, wonders how he ever missed it.

“It wasn't that bad.” Jensen says firmly, and Jared must make a sound; his chest vibrates with quickly stifled rage, and Jensen dips his head back to meet Jared’s eyes.

“I don’t need---you don’t need to worry about it.” Jensen’s eyes are dry and earth-scrubbed and Jared thinks about what a pretty liar Jensen makes.

“It was a long fucking time ago.”

Jared wants to shake him; he heard it; he knows what the fuck happened and Jensen’s mom still has nightmares about it and no one protected him.

Jared sees black spots flit across his vision as soon as he realizes that Chris didn’t do a damn thing about it.

Not once, not in all these wasted years did Chris think to ask his mother about anything.

_Ma’s a little too much to handle sometimes_

Jensen makes a hurt sound below and Jared realizes he’s digging blunt nails into the taut skin of Jensen’s back. Jensen’s eyes are squeezed shut and Jared’s shivering.

“Hey,” Jensen says, blinking, and Jared makes some kind of acknowledgement-noise. “Hey,” Jensen repeats, and then his hands are fluttering across Jared’s face, down his chest.

“Jared,” Jensen says, and Jared comes back to himself with an audible grunt. “You okay?” Jensen says, and Jared can’t think straight.

He leans down, closing the distance between face and mouth and Jensen opens on a whine. Jared’s got half a second to hum in satisfaction at the sound, and then Jensen’s shoving his pelvis into Jared’s groin and Jared’s vibration mutates into a growl.

His hands immediately move to Jensen’s hips and he hoists, Jensen swinging his legs up and around the cut of Jared’s waist.

Jensen’s slight; he’s lighter than Jared would’ve thought possible, or liked, and Jared curves one arm underneath round-thick flesh and wraps the other in Jensen’s hair.

Jensen’s arms are locked in a chokehold around Jared’s neck and Jensen tastes like sea-salt and ruin.

Jared’s legs are still a hair’s breadth away from giving out on him and he bumps into two chairs and the corner of a wall before he makes it to Jensen’s bedroom.

Jensen’s mouth is golden; his cream tongue snakes out to lick at the flavoring of Jared and he grinds his loose dick into Jared’s lower abdomen.

“Baby,” Jared says; he doesn’t recognize the split-hollow of his voice and Jensen responds immediately, attempts to fuse them together entirely.

Jared’s loathe to release Jensen but he’s gotta get his dick out right the fuck now and he sets Jensen down against crisp sheets.

Jensen trembles as Jared releases him and Jared’s dragging shorts down with one hand and his shirt comes off with the other, dull slap against wood where he drops it.

Jensen’s fumbling with his own shirt, raised over the flushed pale of his stomach and Jared leans down to help.

Jensen shoves at Jared’s hands and Jared pauses for just a second. Jensen won’t look up at him and he’s raising slim hips to tug down his shorts and Jared’s heart twists strange.

“Lay down,” Jared says, and Jensen’s naked, covered in rose. His dick curves up to slap wetly at his stomach, tongue sharp.

Jensen’s eyes are barren and Jared’s breeze-stiff but he’s not gonna be able to shove into Jensen like that, not when Jensen can’t meet his eyes, curl of latent aggression.

Jensen’s already leaning back, automatic, and Jared’s dick shivers and he coaxes it into his palm to hide the way it’s wilting.

“Stomach,” Jared grits out, and Jensen blinks once and flips, exposing Jared to his favorite place. Jensen’s hips rise just a little, sexy valley-and-dip of his ass, and then Jensen drops only his face to the bedding.

Jared’s dick is already blood-running back to life; Jensen’s ass is swollen and gilded before him.

Jensen’s arms wind back, traveling over hips and the snake of his spine and then he’s pulling his cheeks apart, bloodless fingertips.

Jared can’t be responsible for the sound that leaves him, and Jensen twitches his legs even wider in response.

Jared leans down and covers Jensen’s hands with darker ones and Jensen whimpers into his pillowcase, high whine of acceptance.

“I want you to take it for me, huh?” Jared asks, and Jensen shudders, fingers flexing underneath the heat of Jared’s palms.

Jared arches further down and presses the flat of his tongue against Jensen’s rim. Jensen makes a wounded sound and Jared could lay here all day, dip-sweat of Jensen’s little hole, spit-loose and winking for him.

Jensen’s stretching himself past the point of accountability and Jared grins, cool press of teeth against swollen skin. Jensen’s rubbing himself off, unconscious and quiet, and Jared delves deeper, swirls his tongue around the taste-the-rainbow and nips four times in rapid succession.

Jensen hiccups mid-cry and Jared rises, catch of his dick against the small gape of Jensen’s hole. Jensen doesn’t move; his face is twisted sideways and his eyes are wired shut.

Jared knocks over shades and notebook paper and something that frighteningly resembles a Bible as he raids Jensen's nightstand.

He catches the lube up in one palm (next to the lamp like a good scout) and he almost drops that too in his haste to thrive, thick and hot into Jensen’s ass.

Jensen drags his hips up just a bit more, face still supporting the entirety of his weight. “Gonna dry up ‘for you get in,” Jensen says dryly, but his voice sounds scraped and Jared catches hold of himself at the base.

Jared screws him deep with two fingers; Jensen likes the extra ache, and he hasn’t had sex with Jen in so long; he follows the guide of his fingers as they delve pretty.

“An I’m so nice to you,” Jared whispers, “giving you this anytime you want.”

Jensen’s fingers inch closer, he’s exposing himself and Jared’s coating his cock slick before he can slide another finger through.

Jared feels the inaudible pop as his crown breaks through and he remembers the thin-strain of Jensen’s rim as he’d worked the Hellhound alongside, squirmed it deeper so Jensen could feel how much Jared liked him split-wide.

“J, J, J,” Jensen mutters, and Jared presses forward without stopping, burn of the shove forcing his balls right up against Jensen’s fuller ones.

Jensen’s eyes are still closed, and his lip is caught in between fine china and Jared suddenly flattens his whole body over top of Jensen’s prone one. Jensen collapses with a grunt, hands tucked in between Jared’s stomach and his own ass.

“Gonna take it like this, baby?” Jared says, and they’ve never been this quiet.

Jared swivels his hips once, four times, and he doesn’t drag out more than two inches per thrust. Jensen’s keens are caught in his throat and his eyes are so tight that Jared can barely make out individual lashes, even though his chin is resting on Jensen’s temple.

Jensen tries to turn his head away and finds it impossible. He makes a pitiful noise and Jared stills entirely.

“Hey baby, baby, Jen,” Jared whispers, and Jensen shakes his head against the fabric.

Jared’s feeling a little sick, and he brings one hand up to cup Jensen’s chin.

“Open your eyes for me, please,” Jared asks, and Jensen remains motionless until one eye cracks, a sliver.

“I need you,” Jared starts, “I need you here for this,” Jared says, and when Jensen opens his mouth, sobs erupt. Jared’s about to scramble up and away, but Jensen laces his ankles over top of Jared’s and holds him steady.

“Fuck you,” Jensen breathes, “I fucking hate you,” Jensen continues, and Jared bows his head, long hair tickling the back of Jensen’s neck.

“I know; I know baby,” Jared says, and he can’t look into Jensen’s eyes anymore, not at such close range.

Jared remains flat, twists his arm up under Jensen’s collarbone and slides it further down to cup at the drenched head of Jensen’s dick.

“This mine,” Jared says, and he thrusts forward hard, knocking Jensen a bit further up the sheets. His grind is dirty-slow and he’s caught off guard when Jensen tightens in his hand and spills, full-bodied scream on the way out.

Jared’s own eyes slam shut with the way Jensen grips him, noose-tight, and his hand is sticky with Jensen’s release.

It takes him a half second to understand that Jensen’s grinding back against his dick, breathy moans and loose-limp body.

Jared doesn’t even attempt to hang on, jerks Jensen’s neck exposed with one hand on the crown of Jensen’s head and bites down, suckles the honey to the surface.

-

“You fucking with me, right?” Chad starts, elbows braced on Jared’s counter. Chad’s half risen from his seat and Jared’s filled with an abrupt onslaught of gratitude for having someone like Chad by his side.

Jared shakes his head, droplets flying askew from his recent shower. “S’all I know. I told him how I found out,” Jared says, “but what I ain’t told him is that m’gonna fucking kill Kane.”

Chad doesn’t give him a strange look, as he’s wont to do whenever Jared’s proposing something entirely foolhardy. He’s always down for it; that’s never the issue. His only problem stems from the fact that he thinks Jared is certifiable.

Chad’s clearly free of that complaint now, and his nostrils flare as he searches Jared’s face. He nods once when he apparently finds what he’s looking for.

“Add that to the ever-growing list of shit we gotta fuck Kane up for,” Chad grits out, and Jared deftly pulls the Hennessey away from Chad’s twitching fingers.

“In a sec,” Jared admonishes. “He’s not gonna see it like we do,” Jared murmurs, and Chad snorts.

“You think?”  Chad leans forward and grabs the half-gallon, clutching it to his chest protectively.

“He’s not gonna understand that his ex is a piece of shit who didn’t care enough to find out if the truth was the truth,” Chad says, and Jared buttons up the final button on his dress shirt and cocks his hip against the granite.

Jared takes a second to locate his car keys; they’re on the table, stuffed in between plants that his mother made him buy.

Chad adjusts Jared’s lapel out of habit and smirks; Jared’s only doing this for the sake of the kid.

“It’s Chris’ responsibility, in the end,” Jared says, taking a decisive step toward his front door. “And I’ll be damn sure he doesn’t forget it.”

-

“Danni,” Jensen says, long-suffering (he’s basically the Christ), “do you gotta keep pinching my ass every five seconds?”

Danni nervously adjusts the intricate bun on top of her head and sends out a broad grin to the patrons of the upscale restaurant.

“We need to look like we’re in love,” Danni hisses, “or, at the very least, like you fuck my brains out on a regular basis.”

Jensen raises his eyebrow and tugs her closer by the waist. He can't imagine why he's playing the High School Musical version of make-the-other-boy-jealous, but never say he's not a good friend.

“M’pretty sure I’m too gay for this--you remember when I took two dicks at the same time?”

Danni snorts and reaches up to adjust the scrap of fabric masquerading as a neckline. “Please,” she says. “One of those was plastic, so like, you’re only level-three gay.”

Jensen acquiesces to her point and does his best not to tug at the pinstripe tie he’s found himself in.

“Well, could you fucking distribute your abuse evenly?” Jensen gripes; he’s gonna have to explain the state of his right asscheek to Jared at some point.

“Shut up,” Danni repeats. “He owns this place; I already told you, and he doesn’t know that I _know_ so make this look real or so help me God I’ll mail Jared your nuts.”

Danni’s smiling and waving as she grits out her death-oath and Jensen’s just wondering why everyone he’s ever befriended has turned out to be some kind of raving lunatic.

Jensen’s just pushing Danni’s chair in behind her when there’s a wave of commotion.

Danni’s boy-toy scuttles from out of the kitchen, three-piece suit and harried look on handsome features. Jensen clucks approvingly and Danni jerks him down to her level, voice pinched.

“Don’t fucking _look_ at him,” Danni says, and Jensen holds his hands up in mock surrender. Danni fairly flings the menu in his direction and Jensen glances down at the array of African cuisine.

“No worries princess,” Jensen says dryly, and Jensen rests one hand on the dip of Danni’s chair; he’s nosy, sue him.

“What’s happening,” Danni whispers, obstinately facing forward, like anyone is gonna miss the graceful curve of her neck.

“Sit _down_ , Jay,” Danni says, and Jensen obliges, navigates around peach-pit tablecloths to sit across from her. Jensen makes a show of debating whether or not to choose _Fufu_ with a side of peanut soup, but really; he’s just trying to catch any detail he can.

At this vantage point; he gets an eyeful. First thing’s first; Sir (Morgan, Jensen stubbornly repeats to himself) is smiling up into Danni’s-guy’s-face and boytoy is clapping his hand against Morgan’s shoulder.

“Dude,” Jensen says, “Sir’s over there and he’s talking to your fuck buddy,” Jensen says. Danni fiddles with the lace overlay of her blue dress and snorts. “His name’s Aldis, and what, are they having a meeting or something?”

Danni looks honestly confused, and Jensen feels like he’s trying to explain red to a blind man.

“Uh, no, it looks like he knows Aldis and they’re just--catchin’ up; I guess?” Jensen surmises.

Aldis leans down so that Morgan can whisper something into his ear, and Jensen catches sight of another man across from Morgan, tall and broad-shouldered, waterfall of black hair coiffed over his head.

The man’s looking down; he’s motionless, and Jensen can’t catch his eyes. The guy doesn’t move an iota, despite the fact that Morgan and Aldis are having an in-depth conversation right in front of his face.

Jensen’s spine tingles and he feels uncomfortable observing all of this.

“Okay,” Jensen says, “we’ll accidentally recognize your boy sometime before dessert, then we’re out,” Jensen says, angling his body so that there’s no chance of Sir catching a glimpse of him.

Danni looks momentarily troubled, and then she grins in understanding.

“I’d stalk a pretty pussy like yours too, Jay,” Danni snorts, and Jensen’s halfway to kicking her in the shin before he reconsiders.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE BE SEX (sorry guys; they just wouldn't fall into bed until right the fuck now) but man OH MAN we have some new developments.  
> I need all your theories on what may (or may not) be happening.  
> (I legit thought I posted this last week; fucked that up).


	15. Chapter 15

Jared’s tapping his fingers against the wheel when the Benz pulls into Lo’s driveway. 

Jared’s hands stiffen well past the point of pain and he knows he can't turn tail and reverse, call Jensen up and ask whether or not he's willing to sit on Jared’s dick for an hour or three. 

Jared slams the door behind him, shoves Ray Bans down against his collar and hands into the pockets of his shorts. 

He feels like the corner of Douche Avenue, but Chad insists that he dress like an adult when he's seeing Lauren, and it can't hurt to play at being a good role model for Ryan in the process. 

Jensen’s at a work meeting and Jared wants to talk to him about this more than anything, and that's what’s most disconcerting about the whole thing. 

Jensen, with his open eyes and elastic heart, privy to the rank airlessness of Jared’s world. 

Jared jogs the four steps up to the door and knocks smartly. 

Lauren knows he hates doorbells; he's the only one who never rings it, and he can hear Ryan screaming from all the way inside. 

“Ry, for God’s sake,” Lo trills and she jerks the door open with a wide smile that Jared can't believe is directed at him. 

“Hey!” She says, and Jared smiles tightly, stepping past her to settle in the entryway of her home. 

Jared feels just as out of place here as he does every time he visits. Everything is stilted since it all happened, and he can hear Ryan banging what sounds like pots and pans together haphazardly. 

“I just wanted a chance to talk to you before he comes home,” Lauren says, hurrying past the living room and toward the kitchen. “Not that,” Lauren says, vaulting over back of the couch in an effort to avoid Ryan’s Lego graveyard, “he tells me anything,” she finishes, voice brisk. 

Jared’s silent; he meanders his way around three Tonka trucks and a plastic spaceship before he spies Ryan, shirtless in the corner of Lauren’s stainless-steel world, surrounded by kitchenware. 

“Unca Jay,” Ryan squeals, and he’s narrowly avoiding tripping over his makeshift battleground in an effort to get to Jared’s legs.

Jared scoops him up easy and buries his face in the grass-thin strands of boy-hair. 

“Gonna eat dinner wif us?” Ryan asks, tangles two fists into Jared’s hair and tugs easy, squeal of amusement. Jared grunts with false pain and blows a raspberry into the shine of Ryan’s cheek.

“You can, if you want,” Lauren adds carefully, and Jared tries in vain ignore the crisp clack of her voice.

Ryan play-slaps Jared’s forehead and Jared wants to tell her to shove it, wants to remind her that he comes and hangs out with Ryan every other weekend (more if he can, regrettably less now that he and Jensen are a thing) and that’s that.

“S’not like that, Lo,” Jared says carefully. Her face scrunches up and she scratches at the top-knot on her head.

“It’s not a thing  _ Jared,”  _ she spits, and Jared can barely keep a straight face due to the vitriol in her voice. 

Jared’s not gonna stay and play family the way he used to; Lauren housing Ryan, midnight trips to the 7/11 because they have this weird off-brand peach tea that her pregnancy liked.

“Don’t make it one then,” Jared says, shifts Ryan to one hip so that the kid can nestle his head against Jared’s collarbone.

Lauren crosses her arms tight against a wide chest and grimaces. Her shirt is hanging halfway off of her shoulder and Jared follows the line of tan skin down into eggshell fabric.

“I just,” she says, and then she looks pointedly at Ryan’s small back; what does she expect him to do?

Ryan’s still now; his eyes are drooping. He usually runs over to Lo, always has, one fist clutching her t-shirt and the other holding tight to the thing she told him not to pick up.

Jared steps around her, past the oven and the polished refrigerator and toward Ryan’s room. His bed’s astronaut-themed; Ryan’s been pestering the three of them about going to the Space Station for months.

Lo trails behind him, adjusting the baby monitor on his dresser like Ryan won’t just come find them if he wakes up bored.

Ryan has trouble releasing Jared’s neck and Jared smothers the kid with kisses until Ryan’s hands fall open flat on his upturned chest.

Jared lingers for a second, traces one thumb down the slope of Ryan’s nose, the fringe of Ryan’s shuttered lashes.

Lauren’s staring hard at him when he turns around, and she leads the way from Ryan’s room to the couch.

-

“Fuck that.”

“Jens--”

“Fuck you, and fuck the  _ fuck  _ outta that,” Jensen says, and his chair almost topples over in his haste to stand.

Collins’ normally inscrutable face is pinched, and this is as close to perturbed as Jensen’s ever seen him.

“M’not--m’not doing that Mish,” Jensen says, and Collins’ face falls into his hands. “Christ Jens, you think I don’t know that?”

Collins stands, rocketing from behind his desk with his usual flurry of activity.

Jensen’s fingers are pale on his thighs and his shirt is strangling his throat even though it’s nowhere near constricting.

“You can’t just--you can’t just fucking sign things without reading over them first!” Collins yells, and Jensen ducks his head in shame; he’s not nineteen anymore.

“It’s fine. We can get a team on it,” Collins says, “but he’s within his rights to ask it of you.” Collins’ perches on the corner of oak, hands nestled in his lap.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why he made it so  _ you  _ were the one person to always test his product?” Collins’ sounds wild-eyed and Jensen’s a little taken aback by the depth of concern.

“He’s never--he never asked me to do any shit like this before,” Jensen says. “Fuck, he doesn’t even produce on the regular. Like, twice in all the years I signed the damn thing!”

Jensen raises his hands to his hair and tugs. “I can’t even re-negotiate; it’s in the fine print.”

Jensen grabs his copy of the contract, the one he signed when he was wet behind the ears, fresh in college and twisted up about the Texas-grit of his lost-boyfriend.

He remembers thinking it was too good to be true; the amount of money for the lack of work.

_ Party will be subject, but not limited to the decisions of the Executor [Mr. Morgan] as it pertains to sale, testing and advertisement of the line of commercial merchandise that the Executor [Mr. Morgan] may produce.  _

_ Neither party shall have the right to assign or subcontract any of its obligations or duties under this agreement, without prior written consent of the other party, which consent shall be in the sole determination of the party with the right to consent. _

“I’m not--he can’t fucking ask me to give a--a live demonstration.” Jensen’s mouth twists around the words and Collins fists clench against his thighs.

“He can,” Collins points out, but Jensen’s two seconds away from punching something or someone.

“When does he want you to do it? I know he wants you to demonstrate the merits of the toy for a second party, but I don’t know anything else,” Collins says, quieter than before.

“This weekend,” Jensen says, and that’s the kicker, today’s Friday and he’s supposed to have his ass washed and prepped for Sir to fucking ogle like he’s the center of some BDSM sideshow by tomorrow.

Jensen’s gonna be sick.

“Don't go,” Collins’ says, imploring. Jensen smiles, shoulders sagging. 

“I signed it,” Jensen says. “I paid my bills with it.” Jensen scrubs one hand over his cheek with a grimace. 

“We can fight it after. It's a lesson, y’know?”

Collins leans over to snag the contract, licks the tip of his index and rifles through the thin sheaf of papers. 

“Don't do it,” Misha repeats, and Jensen doesn't think Collins understands him at all. 

-

Lauren pours him two fingers of bourbon twice in a row before she levels with him. 

Jared takes them so quickly that she blanches. 

“We can't keep doing this,” Jared says and she surprises him by nodding. 

“I don't--I'm not doing this to him. To Ryan,” she says and Jared nods along, motions for her to slide him the bottle of Elijah Craig, expensive tilt of glass. 

Lauren hands it over without complaint; it's one of his favorites and when her fingers close around his she colors prettily. 

“He hasn't called. He hasn't even texted or asked about Ry,” Lauren says, and she's in the process of pulling her hands away. 

Jared sets his glass down and envelopes her hand in his own, tan to bronze.

She trembles slightly and Jared remembers that it's not her fault, not entirely. Looking at her aches, and there's no way around it. 

“That's not on you Lo,” Jared says and she nods but she's already halfway to crying. 

Jared keeps an ear out for Ryan as he re-situates himself next to Lauren. 

“I fucked up. I screwed us up and I'm so sorry for that,” Lauren says and she's outright sobbing now, face tucked into her palms. 

Jared’s violent-hot about it and he wants to tell her he forgave and forgot but he didn't and he doesn't think he ever will. 

She made up a large portion of his life, and just because everything wasn't perfect doesn't mean he’d have ever done the same shit to her. 

“I wanna leave him.”

Jared raises his brow and his hand is shaking when he moves it to pour himself another shot. 

“You love him,” Jared says flatly, and Lauren chuckles, wet and harsh. 

“Too bad it's not reciprocated,” she says and Jared winces, pours Lo a shot to match. 

She smiles weakly and takes it, neck craned toward Ryan’s silent bedroom. 

Jared moves the liquor out of her reach and thinks about what he's supposed to do now. 

He's supposed to help his ex leave her current husband, and what’s that gonna get him? Where’s he gonna be from there? Looking like a damn fool, same as always.

“Ryan’s been asking about him,” Lauren adds and Jared folds his hands in his lap. She stands suddenly and sways in on herself, and Jared reaches up automatically, hands wrapped around her trim waist.

She’s leaning down before Jared can collect himself and her mouth connects to his in a wet slide.

She slings her arms around his neck, familiar weight of thin limbs. Her fingers tangle around the soft curls at the base of his hairline and Jared feels jolted back in time.

Her hands tighten to the point of bruising and Jared knocks her back a controlled step, one hand wrapped around her waist for balance.

“Lauren,” Jared says, and she averts her face, cheeks flushed. “Lauren; I’ll come over; I’ll visit your kid. I’ll help you put your life back together,” Jared says, and he’s got a difficult time keeping his hot and heavy temper in check.

“But I’m never gonna be with you again. Ever.” Jared’s trembling with the sincerity of the statement and Lauren recoils, jerks her body out of his grasp and reach.

“It’s as much his fault as mine,” Lauren says, and she’s already turning toward Ryan’s bedroom, sun slanting through the gape of the blinds.

Jared squints against the shine and smiles.

-

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” 

Jensen makes a sharp left, waves an apology to the woman he accidentally cut off.

“Stop yelling so damn loud Danni,” Jensen says, exasperated in that fond way Danni inspires in him. “M’right next to you.”

Danni folds her right leg under her ass and plays with the hem of her shorts. “Jay,” she starts, and Jensen turns into the nearest Starbucks; he doesn’t trust Danni to this conversation without caffeine.

She was already lurking when he drove home, parked on his couch and surfing through his channels in search of the game.

One look at his face and she was borderline beating the truth out of him.

He’s not opposed to bribery, and he slams his door behind him as he calculates how much sugar he’s gonna have to pump into Danneel to make her remotely docile.

She clicks her door shut primly, antithesis of her attitude right now. She’s already dragging her hair up into a ponytail when she jogs around to his side of the car and Jensen stuffs his hands into his pocket.

Wallet, check.

“You’re not doing it.”

She sets the pace, long legs eating up the ground before him. Jensen dodges the door that she very unhelpfully does not hold open for him, and it’s mid-day; Starbucks is close to empty.

Danni orders something with whipped cream, muttering that it’s gonna hit her calves and ruin them for Aldis. Jensen gets an Americano because he’s a simple guy, and he avoids Danni’s black-eyed gaze as they wait for the drinks to be prepared.

Danni snags his for him and directs him to a booth in the back. Jensen’s just starting to feel like a puppet when she folds her arms across her chest and raises one brow.

“So you told him to go fuck himself, right?”

Jensen opens and closes his mouth like a fish.

“That’s not--that’s not exactly how it went,” Jensen finishes lamely, and Danni snorts. “You can sleep in my bed if you lose this contract,” Danni says, off-hand.

“Or you can just stay with Jared,” Danni smirks, and Jensen flushes, just a little. “We’re not there yet,” Jensen defends, but Danni’s not smiling anymore.

“Whatever you wanna do,” Danni says, “but I’m not letting you do this.”

It’s Jensen’s turn to roll his eyes, which he does with gusto. “There’s not much you can do about it,” Jensen says. “I signed it and I’m locked in.” Jensen holds his palms out in supplication and blows gently on his coffee.

“S’one time. Collins is workin’ on a way to get me out of it.” 

Danni’s hands are wrapped tight around her cup and she hasn’t taken more than one sip for the entire duration of their talk. 

“Well then. I’m coming with you.” 

Jensen’s eyes widen and he chokes on spit.

“Fuck no. No. You’re not gonna watch me--watch me fucking get stuffed full next to  _ Sir _ ,” Jensen flounders. 

Danni’s chuckling though, and she swings her ponytail in affirmation. 

“I’ve seen it before Jay,” she says, and he waves his hand. “Yeah, alone,” Jensen adds unnecessarily.

“I’ll call you when I get there, and when I’m done,” Jensen says, and Danni still looks like she’s got four lemons stuck up her ass and one in her mouth.

Jensen shakes his head at the thought; he’s definitely been hanging around Chad too often.

“So,” Jensen says, taking a slightly-warmer slurp of his coffee, “how’d it go after we pretended not to know your fuck-boy owned the place?”

Danni’s mouth is scrunched up in distaste at Jensen’s word choices but she’s distracted, and Jensen breathes a sigh of relief.

“Jay, he was so pissed,” Danni says, and Jensen manfully refrains from asking whether or not she’d like to rub her hands together in glee.

“He texted me as soon as we left,” she says, “he was like, ‘who the fuck was that,’” Danni says, and she’s cackling, the bitch.

“Anyway,” she continues, “I think he’s gonna talk to me about being exclusive; he asked me to dinner tonight, so, we’ll see.”

Danni’s grinning so hard that Jensen can see parts of her gums he’s never before witnessed, and he doesn’t think it’s healthy.

“You couldn’t just, I don’t know Dan, ask him if he wanted to be exclusive or not?” Jensen says, probably not as carefully as he should have.

Danni’s face darkens infinitesimally and Jensen slouches back in his seat, self-preservation.

“Yeah,” she says, “but where’s the fun in that?” 

Jensen’s about to let the conversation go when he remembers, and jerks himself back upright, spine stiff.

“Hey, hey,” Jensen says, and Danni raises a brow for him to continue. 

“Did you ever ask Aldis about what Sir was doing there?” Jensen reaches for a packet of Splenda and swings it between his fingertips.

“Like, how do they know each other?” 

Danni’s nodding before the words are out of his mouth, and her lips grow thin with anger. “Fuck that guy, Jay,” she says, but she’s pulling her phone from her back pocket even with the disparaging comment.

“Yeah,” Jensen says absently, “I’m just being a nosy fuck, though.” Jensen doesn’t know Morgan that well, besides the contract designed when he was young and fresh off the farm.

There’s never been any need for direct contact; Jensen provides a service and Morgan designs the product. 

They’ve had a good working relationship for all these years, but Morgan runs in the same circles as Jared and Jensen wants to know more about the man if he’s gonna have to see him all the time now.

And then there’s that ominous command from Jared to stay away from Morgan, and if Jared won’t elaborate, Jensen’s just gonna find out the same way he does everything else.

Danni.

“Yeah, just, tell me what he says,” Jensen asks, and Danni taps a nail-beat out on the wood.

-

There’s a lot of shit that Chad does for his best friend.

Chad was in the room when Jared lost his virginity (Katie Sanchez; Prom Queen), and Jared’s always been an altruistic fuck; Chad lost his own thirty minutes later, Katie bouncing in his lap like a Throne.

Chad and Jared do everything together.

When Jared’s not fucking turned ass over head for Jensen; he’s dating Chad. Chad feels like he’s got a personal stake in Jared and Jensen’s happiness, especially because they’re fucking idiots and can’t achieve anything by themselves.

Long story short; there’s a lot that Chad will do for his boy.

Chad and Jared are also best fucking friends because they can hold a grudge until the end of time.

Chad met Jared in the third grade. They ate dirt together, finger-painted together, and Jared helped Chad learn his multiplication tables when the numbers started doing cartwheels on the page.

The first physical altercation Chad ever got in; his first ever fist-fight, was with Jared.

They’re twelve years old and Jared’s got more money than God. Chad’s not in the same boat, never has been, but Chad’s got a scholarship to Keystone and Jared’s just brilliant.

Chad fucks with Jared because Jared’s got bigger dreams than him, and he’ll make it, because Jared’s got a filter and he doesn’t eschew it on the grounds of ignorance, like Chad does.

Carter Finchland sees Chad’s Mama drop him off every other day, because she won’t let him catch a ride with J’s driver.

Chad thinks it’s less than safe for his Ma to be driving when she smells like bottom-shelf Aristocrat, but the real problem is that Carter sees and Carter knows.

Carter and Jared have gotten along most of their lives. Jared’s Ma is oil and both of Carter’s parents are too and they sit at the same stiff dinner tables and wear starched-underwear.

Chad teases Jared to within an inch of his life for that shit (dinner parties with Fuckland, J, really)?

But Carter’s never taken kindly to Chad and Carter’s an ass, on principle. 

Chad thinks that kind of money makes a person rotten, in different ways than other vices.

To this day, Chad can’t remember what Carter said about his Mama. He doesn’t think it’s important, not after all this time, and Chad can’t be bothered to try and recall.

He knows Jared does, though, because whenever Chad brings it up, the story of their first brawl together, Jared grimaces and grows silent. 

Jared’s a maelstrom when he’s pissed.

One second Carter’s laughing, golden head thrown back in mirth, and the next his upper teeth are splitting his lower lip open with the force of Jared’s punch.

J’s training with his Dad and older brother, so he hits sure.

The other guys are screaming in excitement, they’re in P.E and Carter’s back up quick, Chad can respect him for that.

Chad swings up under Jared’s arm and blocks Carter’s next blow, it was wide anyway.

Jared grins at him, wide and fearless, and Chad loves him in that instant, as much as anyone ever has, probably.

This is the first time that their private school expels Chad and then repeals the decision, on account of the fact that the Padalecki’s have a lot of influence and Jared’s not going anywhere Chad isn’t allowed.

It’s not the last time.

Fuckland talks with a lisp for two months, and Jared tells him that dinner parties are awkward now, and Mr. Finchland wants Carter to take fighting lessons from Jared, “so he’s not such a damn Nancy next time around.”

So Chad’s laying on Jared’s couch, eating Jared’s food and generally being a nuisance, even when Jared’s over at Lauren’s because he’s a nicer guy than Chad’s ever known how to be.

Lauren’s always taken advantage of that, but just because Chad’s always right doesn’t mean that Jared rightly appreciates the fact. 

Chad’s scratching his happy trail and wincing at the pleasure-pain of the soreness in his ass from his last shoot when Jared’s house phone rings.

They never use it; it’s just there as part of their internet bundle and Chad almost flops off the couch at the surprise of the sound.

Chad stands; he’s naked because he likes it, and he can’t find one of Jared’s shirts to wear besides. 

It’s clipping over to voicemail, automated drone, and Chad’s rummaging through the fridge for orange juice when Christian Kane’s voice trickles down the line.

Chad grunts, slaps the crown of his head on the shelving and still doesn’t grab the Tropicana.

“Jared,” Kane says, and his voice is heavily slurred, Chad recognizes a drunk when he hears it.

“Padalecki, if you’re there, pick up the fucking phone man,” Kane says, and Chad wheels around the marble-countertop and clips his hip in an effort to quickly snatch the phone out of the cradle.

“City Morgue; you kill ‘em, we chill ‘em,” Chad answers, and Kane’s paused for a second before he comes back online.

“Murray, put Padalecki on,” Kane commands, voice thick. “I don’t really think you’re in the position to be telling me what to do padre,” Chad says, and his voice trips into anger; he hasn’t forgotten.

“J’s not here; he’s away on business, can I take a message?” Chad adds, doing his best slutty-secretary impression.

“You tell him--tell him I talked to my mother. I talked to my Ma about Jensen.”

The phone creaks in his hand and Chad skirts out of the kitchen in search of pants.

-

“He okay?” Jared says, and Lauren nods without looking at him; she’s embarrassed about how she acted, and Jared’s not gonna make it easy on her.

“If you’re gonna leave him we need to find you a lawyer,” Jared says pointedly, and her head dips.

“I just. I want to,” Lauren says, and she bends down to scoop Ryan’s stuffed animals into her arms, nudge his trucks over onto the rug.

“I need to talk to him first,” she says, and her accent rises and falls with the threat of tears.

“You talk to him and then you call me,” Jared says, eyes falling shut. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out; Chad’s texted him.

**Call me fucker**

Jared’s brow furrows in confusion. Chad knows where he is at every given moment; he’d never ask to talk to Jared when he knows that he’s visiting Ryan (and by extension, Lauren).

**Can’t, I’m still at Lo’s. What’s up man?**

Jared taps his Iphone on his leg in wait and Lauren watches him out of the corner of her eye, even as she pretends to be focused on depositing Ryan’s toys into his playpen.

**Kane called. I asked him to be my prom date, he said he’d think about it. He also needs to talk to you. He talked to his mom. About Jensen.**

Jared’s eyes flick up and he can’t focus; he’s gotta leave, now. Whatever Kane knows, it’s about to be brutal, and Jared needs to be with Chad for it.

**On the way. I wanna do this face to face**

Jared swipes his phone to black and smiles apologetically at Lauren.

“I gotta go Lo, but call me when you hear from him,” Jared says, and he turns to duck down the hall to Ryan’s room.

He’s kissing the boy goodbye when Lauren creeps up behind him, hands tangled together.

“Can you try calling him?” She whispers, and Jared doesn’t even spare her a look for that insulting request.

She’s following him to the door, bare feet padding softly, and Jared feels claustrophobic with the way she won’t let him free; the suffocation of her life.

Jared pulls her front door open and he’s halfway twisted around to look at Lauren, ready to give her a piece of his mind, when her face blanches and she stumbles back. She reaches blindly for a portion of the wall to brace herself against and Jared squints down at her in confusion.

Jared turns back to face the gape of the door and sighs heavily; it’s withering, even upon exit from his mouth.

“Tom,” Jared says. “Nice to see you finally made it home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, I've been sitting on this chapter for awhile (but I wanted it to be just right) I'm sorry for the wait! 
> 
> I hope all the surprises were worth the lost (abandoned) sleep. What are your theories about Chad, Sir and Tom???


	16. Chapter 16

Collins calls Jensen four separate times on Saturday, and he leaves him increasingly threatening voicemails with every ignored instance.

Danni went on her date last night and Jensen’s counting on that; Danni’s inability to wake up prior to noon on a weekend. 

He’ll text her that he's there and by the time she finally drags her ass out of bed, he'll be done and headed back home. 

His face burns at the thought of what Sir wants from him, but when he reminds himself that it's all gonna be clinical, he can manage it. 

What he can't manage is imagining the look on Jared’s face when Jensen tells him. 

He's gonna tell him--he's just gonna wait until after it's over. 

He feels better about the whole thing, but that's solely because they're doing it before lunch. 

If this was some back-alley, only in the wee hours of the night-type deal, Jensen might be more perturbed. 

As it is, if he goes missing and Dateline’s How To Catch A Predator airs the entire thing on primetime, he’s pretty sure he’s fucked.

There are a plethora of reasons why this is A Bad Idea. 

Jensen pats himself down once and locates his phone in his back pocket.

He wonders if it’ll be too much to pack a switchblade, too. 

-

Jared’s not awake enough for this.

He figures he needs some kind of advance warning before all avenues of his life come crashing down around him.

Chad’s asleep at the kitchen table, drool encrusted on the sides of his cheeks, and Jared looks down on him with unbridled fondness.

Kane’s sitting up on Jared’s couch, eyes trained on ESPN, muted dance of light in the early morning. Kane looks like shit. There’s not a nicer way to describe the week-old stubble carved on his face, and if Jared didn’t know better; he’d think the man was drinking.

Kane coughs once and flicks the decanter up to his mouth.

Right. Drunk, then.

“Worst part about all this?” Kane says abruptly, and Jared bangs his knee against an armchair. Jared winces and scratches at the warm place between hem of shirt and shorts.

“That you woke us up in the wee hours of the fucking morning to pick you up from LAX?” Chad grumbles, and Jared turns to face his best friend, watches him wipe his cheek in mild amusement.

Kane’s unimpressed, doesn’t bother dignifying Chad’s jab with a response.

“I knew something--I figured something fucked up went down,” Kane drawls, early morning grogginess and warm Texas heat; Jared’s uncomfortably close to home.

“Well then,” Jared replies, “that about explains it all.”

Kane lifts up the crystal decanter, almost three-fourths empty, and Jared plucks it from his outstretched hand.

“That’s mine,” Jared says, cradles the remains of Remy Martin to his chest like the child he doesn’t want.

Kane’s smile is languid and benevolent as he laughs, tosses his lean neck back to chuckle at Jared’s disapproval.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “if only brandy was enough to get you through this one, J,” Kane says, and Chad skirts around the counter, tugs his boxers free of the morning-clutch of his dick.

“Stop fucking around then, Kane,” Chad adds, crosses in front of Jared to meet Kane’s face.

Kane stands up, surprisingly steady, and Jared’s fingers tighten on his prize, unwilling to goad Kane past a certain point, as he would normally.

“She knew I met him at the cathedral after practice,” Kane says, low, and Jared steps closer; Chad’s motionless.

“She knew all about that; I ain’t hide it from her. She sent those men there, let ‘em hold him down.” Kane’s breath comes out choppy and Jared’s not sure what to say first.

“She said, she said, my mother, y’know. My own mother,” Kane rambles. “She tells me that he corrupted me. I was never  _ like that  _ before I went and met Jensen.”

Kane’s mouth curls and Chad reaches across Jared’s chest to snatch the bottle from Jared’s loosened grip. Chad ignores Jared’s attempt to wrestle it back, and Jared clears his throat.

“What else.” Jared doesn’t recognize himself, and Kane doesn’t seem to either, glances up like Jared’s a ghost.

“She says he tried to fight at first--tried to scream, I guess.” Kane lurches forward, looks sick, and even Chad’s face bleeds free of color.

“She said, ‘that’s what I expected, Chris. They always fight in the beginning.’” Kane swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“She prayed for him. The whole time. Prayed that he’d accept the Lord and come to his senses,  _ repent.” _

Kane laughs. “Like I wasn’t the one bending him over every flat surface I could think up. Like I wasn’t the one pushing his legs wide.”

Jared’s hand curls around Kane’s bicep on automatic, and Kane tenses under the restraint. 

“Jared,” Chad warns, but Jared’s not listening. 

“They--they stripped him before they did it, really laid into him.” Kane’s voice is listless with Jared’s ever increasing grasp.

“That it?” Jared grinds out, mouth feels like glass. Chad’s already shaking his head once, and then he twists the knob out of the crystal, hands Jared the decanter without looking.

“That’s not everything,” Chad guesses, and Jared takes a warm mouthful, hot on his tongue, Remy off the rocks.

“She left him alone with them. The guys she hired to beat the--beat the fucking gay outta him.” Kane’s face twists ugly and Jared shakes him, knocks Kane’s head loose and he braces himself against the violence.

“Christian,” Jared says, and Chris glances over, bleary from no sleep, non-stop from Texas to Jared’s doorstep. Running from his mother and the truth.

“What they do to him?” Jared wants to pull the question back but they all three need to know and Kane bows his head at the neck.

“She told me that whatever happened was between them and God.” Kane’s chin brushes his sternum and Jared releases him, stumbles backwards and takes the last of the brandy with no further compunction.

“Jared. J,” Chad calls, but Jared’s already rounding the stairs to his bedroom; he needs pants.

“They raped him,” Jared calls down, loud and echoing in his too-big house and he hears Chad let out a string of expletives that should have Rebecca Kane running over here on principle.

“He ain’t say that,” Chad swears, accent peeking forth. “He didn’t goddamn say that.” 

There’s a scuffle and Jared shoves his feet into tennis shoes and bounds back downstairs, IPhone in one hand.

“You fucking son of a bitch,” Chad hisses and Kane’s mouth is quirked up. “You can’t say nothing to me that’s gonna make me feel any different ‘bout myself.” Jared pauses to scrutinize the man, follows the hunched line of his shoulders.

“You knew your mama didn’t like him,” Jared says tightly. “Goddamn, everyone knew it, didn’t they? Big Kane too,” Jared says, and Kane nods once.

“I didn’t think it mattered! I was a fucking kid, Jared! I thought we were gonna be okay! I didn’t think---how was I supposed to know she was gonna fuck him up like this?”

Jared’s out of breath but Kane’s gained his second wind, anger bleeding through liquor. “She sent me on an errand that day, I remember that. That’s why I was late.”

Kane’s fists hang tight by his side and Chad’s hair is caught up in one fist.

“I always--I always thought he was doin’ too much, acting like he hated her so bad.” Jared crosses his arms over his chest to keep from hauling off and knocking Kane into his floor.

“Then he left and she never bothered about him again,” Kane says. Jared snorts. “You never bothered about asking her til now? Never thought she might know anything?”

Kane meets his eyes, blank void. “You tellin’ me you gonna assume the worst about your family? Your  _ Daddy?”  _ Kane taunts, and Chad’s quicker than Jared gives him credit for.

Chad’s hauling him away from Kane’s chest with a strength that Jared didn’t know his best friend possessed.

“Stay the fuck  _ back,”  _ Chad admonishes, and then he’s turning to Kane, one finger outstretched. 

“And you--you don’t got a high horse. You don’t got a leg to stand on, Kane,” Chad says. “I don’t much like you, never have.” 

“But this ain’t about Jared’s dad, or my mom or any of that other shit you’re pissing about,” Chad huffs, and Jared regains his equilibrium, stalks up beside his best friend.

“He never didn’t love you,” Jared says, and Kane’s nodding, deflated. “It was always about her,” Kane completes.

“You see why I gotta talk to him?”

Jared laughs, but there’s no humor in it, and Chad recognizes the difference, settles a hand on Jared’s shoulder in preemptive caution.

“S’up to him,” Jared acquiesces. “If it were my call, I’d let you suffocate in your own goddamn guilt.”

-

“Danni, you’re gonna scream like a bitch when you hear this, but I told you I’d call you when I got there, and when I left. Promises, promises. Don’t blow up my phone.”

Jensen hangs up and rolls through the crick in his neck.

He thinks about shooting Jared a text about the whole thing, but Jared’s not the type of guy to respond well to Jensen blindsiding him with something of this magnitude.

Morgan’s offices are non-descript, off Ventura and made entirely of glass. Jensen’s wearing clothes that are easy to take on and off, and his heart lurches a bit about what, exactly, it is he’s gotten himself into.

He closes his door softly; it’s early and a Saturday; there’s no one else around.

Morgan’s located on the nineteenth floor, and Jensen paces in a circle in the elevator before he remembers that there are probably cameras recording his every move.

Morgan’s already opening the door before he can knock, and Jensen’s dryly unsurprised.

“Jensen,” Morgan says kindly, face open and gregarious. Jensen’s overcome by the welcome. He’s never liked the guy the past few times they’ve met in person, but Morgan’s always been professional, and he’s never strayed from the lines of his contract.

Morgan might be smarmy, and he and Jared might have some bad history, but that shouldn’t extend to Jensen.

“I apologize for such short notice,” Morgan says, and Jensen nods in acceptance. “Any reason why you needed my ass on tap, asap?” Jensen says carefully, and Morgan explodes into laughter.

“Your ass is always my preferred brand,” Jeff says, and Jensen flushes against his will. “But I’m thinking of signing with an investor and his main stipulation is that he have a demonstration of the product.” Jeff shrugs like it’s a small matter of business, and Jensen scratches at the back of his neck.

“He’s only in town for three days,” Jeff apologizes again, and Jensen smiles against his will. It’s clear that Jeff’s knocked a few degrees to the left; from what Jensen’s gathered, Jeff’s the type of guy who likes all his ducks in a row, and this has left him high and dry.

“I understand,” Jensen says, “nothing I didn’t sign up for.” Jensen clears his throat and looks around the lobby for the investor.

“He already here, or…” Jensen trails off, and Jeff laughs generously, and Jensen warms to his toes, ducks his head shyly.

“It’s one thing to perform in front of me,” Jeff explains, leading Jensen through the double doors that open into his office.

Jeff’s office is pristine, navy and glass, spiralling up into an point at the ceiling.

“You know me,” Jeff continues, and Jensen’s loafers are soundless on the carpet.  _ Not really,  _ Jensen thinks, but he doesn’t vocalize it because Jeff’s doing his best to put him at ease. 

“If it’s preferable,” Jeff says, pulling up to a stop in front of an area situated in the corner of his office. The space is warm to look at, soft throw rug splayed on top of monochromatic carpet. There are sets of stage lights arranged in an open circle around the rug, and there’s a tripod at the front of it all, camera blinking steadily.

“I’d rather just videotape it and show it to him.” Jensen’s brow furrows and Jeff plunges ahead, hands held out in supplication.

“The tape isn’t to be distributed or sold to a third party,” Jeff assuages, and the knot uncurls itself from Jensen’s stomach.

“I’m just looking to show him so that you don’t have to do a live demo in front of a fucking stranger.” Jensen chuckles at the sound of Jeff cursing so casually, and when he looks up at Jeff, the man is smiling, handsome face wrinkled at the edges.

“I can show it to him privately, or you can be a witness to the viewing,” Jeff offers, and Jensen’s head is spinning. 

“Can I--can I think about it? For a few days?” Jensen knows he sounds painfully childish, but he’s only ever handled the toys, written an article and then forgot about it. The idea of doing something so permanent settles uncomfortably, but, there’s a contract for a reason.

Jeff’s already nodding, hands folded together. “Of course. Of course. I don’t want you to rush into anything. Consult with your team, your lawyers, anything you need.

Jensen nods, and then scans the almost-empty room. “You got the toy, or you want me to open myself up, or..?” Jensen asks, and Jeff smiles honey-slick and crosses to his desk, comes back with a present-box.

“Honor’s yours,” Jeff says proudly, and Jensen’s fingers tremble as he peels plastic and tissue-wrap free.

Lawyer Up is nestled in front of him, with some minor adjustments. For one thing, the entire thing is ribbed from top to bottom, and the crown is more spongy than the previous model.

The base flares out into a thick plug, and Jensen wraps his fist around the girth. It’s not as unrealistically proportioned as the 1.0, but Jensen’s ass still twitches without his consent.

“A certain article suggested I make some improvements,” Jeff says congenitally. Jensen never has to look into the face of the owners of the products he tests, and he flushes heavily.

“I didn’t mean--not to say that it wasn’t--it wasn’t  _ good, _ ” Jensen flounders, and Jeff holds up a hand. “I aim to please,” Jeff replies. 

“And, if I’m not pleasing my favorite test subject,” Jeff adds, “then I’ve got some work to do.”

Jeff leans back, hands jammed into Balmain slacks, Jensen notes wildly. 

“Ready?” Jeff’s face is an open book; he’s all teeth and ease, and Jensen fiddles with the drawstring of his sweats. They come down to bunch around his ankles and Jensen hisses through his teeth at the chill of the air.

He’ll be fine if he pretends that he’s about to hook up with Morgan; this is just a regular thing. Morgan’s looking at him like a piece of steak, and oddly enough, that’s enough to ground him.

Jensen knows what he looks like. He knows, that for some reason, he gets men’s gears going, and he does his best to work with that knowledge know.

His shirt is next, tossed carelessly next to pants, and then he’s kneeling, settled back onto his haunches, Lawyer Up standing next to him.

“Lube?” Jensen asks, and like Bad Santa, Jeff pulls a tube from his pocket and tosses it to him. Jensen catches it deftly, small tremor remaining, and Jeff strides toward the camera. He turns it on and motions for Jensen to continue.

“This entire area is within view of the camera,” Jeff says, just out of frame. “Don’t worry about anything outside of that.”

Jensen bends over, ducks his head so that he doesn’t need to meet Jeff’s eyes. His fingers skate back over his ass and dip low, in practice.

He grunts softly as the first finger slides home, and Jeff doesn’t bother hiding his hiss of pleasure. Jensen’s body flushes at the audience and then he pushes two more within his own heat, chasing release and an end.

“It’s gonna screw you wider than your fingers,” Jeff says, and his voice still rides that fine line of amusement. Jensen shivers at the appraisal, doesn’t wanna hear himself on tape.

He scissors his digits wide, and then rocks back on them, brushes his prostate on the third pass and bites down on his lip to stifle the cry that wants to erupt.

“Oh no, none of that,” Jeff murmurs, just for Jensen. “You let me hear.”

Jensen gasps at the authority and the tilt of his hips smacks his fingers in deeper and Jeff gets an earful of his pleasure. 

Jensen’s shaking by the time he tugs his hand free, ass fluttering around a memory.

He coats the crown with the last of the lube, drags it down the ribbed shaft and dares to look up at Jeff as he slides the tip in between his cheeks to connect with the heat of his hole.

Jeff’s dick is tenting his slacks so obscenely that Jensen thinks Jeff ought to tuck it underneath his waistband, but Jeff remains open and unashamed in a way that reminds Jensen uncomfortably of Jared. The idea of Jared, watching him on display like this hardens him further, and Jeff’s smile grows.

“Looks--looks painful,” Jensen grits out, motions to Jeff’s dick as the softened head slips past the initial resistance. Jensen exhales out of habit and braces his weight on his left palm.

Jeff shrugs, hungry light of his eyes. “I’m a professional,” Jeff states, “but I’m also a grown man. I’m not gonna pretend you aren’t the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Jeff’s matter-of-fact tone spurs Jensen on in the worst way, and he presses the dick further in, holds his breath until it’s plugged up tight, base stretching hotly against the thin skin of his rim.

Jensen’s palm comes to smack against carpeting, and he rocks back against the fullness, lube-tipped crown pressing gently into his prostate.

The waves of pleasure are just enough to handle and Jensen can’t stop the screwing of his hips, glances down at the candied-flush of his dick, not as bright and violent as it is when he’s with Jared, but still clearly aching for release.

“Go on,” Jeff says, voice brittle, “finish.”

Jensen grabs hold of the base and tugs backwards, hisses at the dirty-hot drag of skin. He repeats the motion, pulling out just a little further each time.

The ribbing is a huge improvement, and Jensen’s thighs tremble as he begins to fuck himself in earnest, mouth hanging slightly agape.

His eyes are closed; he’s twisting the Lawyer in small semi-circles, punched off moans settled in his throat, so he doesn’t see Jeff kneel beside him.

“Can you get off like that?” Jeff asks, breath hot on Jensen’s fevered skin.

“W-what?” Jensen pants, and Jeff doesn’t answer for a second. “Hands-free. Can you get off like that?” Jensen wants to shake his head; no, he needs one touch and he can come and come and come, explode over everything, but he’s come untouched with Jared before, and he grunts his reply.

No.

He thinks Jeff’s gonna touch him, give him that extra boost, and he doesn’t know how he feels about that, not-Jared’s hands all over him, pressed against his ache of a dick.

He mewls in pleasure-anxiety but Jeff doesn’t touch, like he promised.

“Imagine it’s Jared’s dick,” Jeff says, voice lowered several degrees, but still saturated in lust. Jensen can’t tell if Jeff sounds livid or it’s just his imagination, but Jensen’s body stiffens at the name. 

“Pretend Jared’s pounding you open on my floor, in front of me, and he’s just got you  _ taking it,”  _ Jeff says harshly. Gone is the jovial man Jensen met an hour ago; his voice and timbre have entered the nether regions and he’s standing again, facing Jensen.

Jensen groans, louder than anything that came before, and he manages to brush two fingers against the crown of his dick before he’s coming, virtually untouched.

Jensen’s hand is covered when he slumps down onto his elbows, ass still half-plugged.

-

Jared allows his phone to crash to the coffee table and cradles his head in his hands.

Jensen’s not answering and Jared figures he’s either still asleep, or busy, but still. Jared doesn’t even know how he’s gonna approach the conversation--

_ I know something you never wanted anyone else to find out about, and I’ve got your ex sleeping in my guestroom because he flew all the way out here to talk to me, and now he wants talk to you. _

Jared’s been calling Jensen and ignoring all of Lauren’s calls in return.

An unknown number has called him three times in the last hour, and Jared’s stomach twists when he realizes that number probably belongs to Tom.

He’d deleted Tom’s number a long time ago, when it all went down, but he’d recognize the array of digits anywhere.

Tom doesn’t leave but one message, short and to the point, so unlike the Tom of old that it fills Jared with irrational anger.

**We need to talk. As soon as you’re free, call me back. Please.**

Jared wants to break his phone to bits, but he hasn’t got the fortitude needed to stand in line and get the damn thing replaced in the same day.

He can’t shake the idea of Jensen, young and vulnerable, left at the mercy of a God he doesn’t think loves him to begin with.

Jared rubs his eyes viciously, palms bruising. And they wonder why he left Texas, dragged his best friend alongside and never looked back.

Chad’s out, gone back to his place to pick up a change of clothes, and Jared’s phone vibrates loudly against wood-grain.

It’s not any of the numbers he accustomed to seeing, but it is Danni, and that’s the closest he can get to Jensen right now.

“Dan?” He picks up, sounding breathless in a way he has no right to.

“You talk to Jen today?” 

Danni’s fumbling on the other end, curses softly, and then her voice is blaring down the line so loudly Jared recoils from the sound.

“M’so fucking sorry. I promised him---” she stutters; she’s clearly moving around her room and trying to talk to him at the same time.

“What?” Jared says, standing in a panic. “Is he okay? What the fuck’s going on?” Jared doesn’t mean to come off so abrasive, but that’s his natural state of being when he’s scared, and Danni’s not making much sense.

“He went to do a live-demo for a new product,” Danni says, finally settled on her end. “He’s got a contract and it states that he’s to be available for that kind of--service,” Danni says with derision. 

“He was young--Jared!” She yells; she can hear Jared moving around, cursing loudly, probably enough to wake Kane from his deadened sleep.

“Jared, he didn’t know what he was doing!” Jared’s not listening, he’s already got his keys in his hand and he’s slamming his front door shut behind him.

“JARED!” she screams, and Jared’s behind his wheel, engine cranked underneath him. “Jared, it’s Mr. Morgan’s toy. He’s gone to do the demo for Morgan.”

-

Chad’s not proud of a lot of things.

He’s not proud of getting Jared into so many fights when they were kids. 

He’s not proud of almost losing his best friend when they were eighteen, too drunk, Chad still unsure of how to neatly hide his feelings.

He’s better at the facade now, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt more than anything, still.

But right now; he’s the most sorry about this.

“Mr. Padalecki?” Chad says, fingers tight around his phone. Jared’s daddy doesn’t say a word for a second, and then he crackles down the line, vibrant and alive.

“Is he okay? Chad, is Jared alright?” Chad shakes his head at the onslaught and peers through a window in his foyer, as if Jared’s gonna come careening through, sixth sense about Chad’s betrayal.

“Mr. Padalecki, he’s fine,” Chad placates, and then he bum-rushes ahead, unwilling to stop now that he’s started. 

“I need you to tell me what happened with Rebecca Kane.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omfg you guys. SORRY I'VE BEEN MISSING OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH. Anyway, we're back in business.  
> I definitely need all your theories, because it's been WAY TOO LONG since I posted.
> 
> Demo thoughts, Kane thoughts, Jeff thoughts, CHAD thoughts?


	17. Chapter 17

Jensen drives home stuffed full. Jeff had insisted, turned the camera off and showed Jensen the contents, slight grin of personal satisfaction. 

Jensen can't move, any breath pushes the Lawyer farther up his ass and every pothole makes him grind his teeth into dust. 

Jeff asked if he wanted to see the video, and Jensen had declined, too frightened of what he might find. He doesn't like the idea of reliving the experience, especially now that Jeff’s seen him come. 

Made him come?

Danni calls him again, and Jensen hums to himself as he takes his final left, wonders what, exactly, he's supposed to say to her. 

“Jensen!” She screams, and Jensen overcorrects and almost knocks into his mailbox.

“Fucking--Jesus Christ,” Jensen sputters, overcorrects again and almost hits the Beamer that’s parked in his usual spot. 

It’s black and chrome, minimalist luster, and Jensen ignores Danni in favor of staring at all the wealth decorating his small place.

He blinks rapidly and then zooms back in on Danni, crystal-clear.

“Danneel.” 

Her voice grinds to a sudden halt, and she’s been talking so quickly she’s breathing heavily, filling his ear with white noise.

“Danni, what’s Jared doing at my place this early?”

Danni’s mouth wheels back into motion instantly, and Jensen white-knuckles his steering wheel and turns his car off.

“Everyone told you not to go, Jay!” she yells, voice twice as shrill as before. “Jared told you he’s not--you even told me Morgan’s not--not a safe guy, Jensen!”

“So you, what,” Jensen says, slamming his door to a degree that makes him wonder whether or not Mrs. Jamison will crack her front door open in terror.

“You told him? You told Jared, fucking--the fucking Patron Saint of Patience and Understanding that I--that I, what?” Jensen yells, voice too loud to be appropriate for this time of day but he’s understandably enraged.

“That you went to the demo,” Danni says, resigned, and Jensen’s hand flexes into a fist by his side. He wants to wring her neck, and that’s not a feeling he’s ever associated with his best friend.

“You gotta understand,” Danni tries, unnerved by Jensen’s silence, “I don’t--I don’t have enough, I don’t have connections like that. To Morgan,” Danni says, and Jensen’s stalled by his car, stares hard at Jared’s in the hopes that it’ll vanish.

“Jared’s intense, but he’s not crazy, and Morgan’s the only guy he talks about like that,” Danni says, but Jensen’s vibrating free of his own rage.

“I don’t need you to fucking--call a goddamn Amber Alert on my ass,” Jensen says, and Danni snorts her laughter, terrified and amused in unison.

“I don’t much like Morgan either,” Danni says firmly, “so be mad if you’re gonna be mad, but Jared’s the kind of guy I want in your corner,” she finishes, and Jensen jerks his phone away from his ear like flame.

He’s hanging up before she can say anything else and he’s seized with the sudden urge to smash his IPhone to bits on asphalt.

He knows Jared’s waiting inside; he knows where Jensen’s spare is and the thought tightens Jensen’s chest.

It’s not until he’s turning the key in his own lock does his ass clench fruitlessly around the Lawyer, and Jensen’s well and truly fucked.

-

Jared’s pretty sure he’s making decent progress in his life. It could be the fact that he’s not pouncing on Jensen’s frail body in the heat of anger, but it’s mostly his ability to keep his voice level as he greets Jensen from his own couch.

“Nice surprise,” Jensen says derisively, and Jared clings to the last shards of his self-control with all the agility of a burn victim.

“Don’t hold back for my sake,” Jensen says, keys clatter to the coffee table and Jared wonders if it was too dramatic to leave himself shrouded in darkness.

“Fuck, Jared,” Jensen says, “this isn’t a thriller; open the damn blinds,” but Jared’s about an inch away from grabbing Jensen by the throat and making him  _ stay. _

The feeling isn’t foreign, but it is long suppressed, and Jared shudders at the invasive thought, the wrongness of it.

“You’re an adult,” Jared says, nonplussed by the blankness of his tone. “I don’t ever wanna hold you back from doing what you wanna do,” he adds. “I want you to live your own life.”

Jared stands then, and the anger slithers down his arms to settle in fingertips and Jensen’s face is brittle as he backs away.

Jensen’s spine smacks the corner of the doorframe and he quivers, tilts his pale neck back where Jared could get at it, if he wanted. Jared wonders about the row of teeth he’d leave and Jensen’s breathing heavily.

“I just don’t understand,” Jared says, bows his head so that the tip of his nose runs along the underside of Jensen’s chin, chases his carotid artery in a facsimile of tag.

“Why you need to see Morgan,” Jared says, voice cracking in anger. “I’m not telling you to stay away from him for  _ my _ own good!”

Jared’s not been scared for a long time. He stopped being frightened of his father when he grew up and out, ate Texan bbq like it was going out of style and took up three sports at once.

But right now, he feels the way he used to, peaked at 5’7, staring up at his father and brother like God and The Christ. Jensen’s trembling beneath him, and then Jared watches thin fingers fiddle around with his zipper, shove his pants down to mid-thigh.

Jared catches Jensen’s fist in his own and he can’t tell which hand the quaking stems from.

“Stop it,” Jared hisses, and Jensen turns wide eyes up to him, guileless in their sincerity. Jared’s probably more furious than he’s ever been before, and he can’t place the why behind it, other than the fact that Jensen’s not allowed to do something this fucking  _ stupid. _

Jensen’s free hand is still tangled up in denim and his petal-pink mouth drops open as he attempts to squirm pants down his legs.

“What?” Jensen asks, and Jared catches that hand up too, shoves both wrists in one grasp and Jensen, mouth wet and dark; Jared’s hungry.

He catches that lower lip in a kiss and Jensen surges into him with a vigor that turns Jared off in the worst way. 

Jared sucks on his bottom lip in apology as he releases, and how Jensen can look barely-fucked from a half-kiss is what’s gonna do him in.

“Look--look,” Jensen’s saying, and he’s wiggling blush-fingers in an attempt to free himself. Jared’s still having a stern internal monologue with his wayward dick when Jensen’s hand drags his own down to the cleft of his ass.

Jared’s dick makes a resurgence and he grits his teeth against the distraction. “Jensen. Jen, baby, let go. Let go,” Jared says, but even he’s willing to admit that it’s half-hearted at best.

Jared’s thumb taps against a solid patch of plastic and it takes Jared an interminably long amount of time to realize what’s still wedged up Jensen’s ass.

Jensen’s eyes follow him, summer-wet and wanting, and Jared realizes he’s barely breathing.

“All plugged up,” Jensen breathes, dick twitching heavy between them, and Jared’s not even thinking about his own because he’s so next-level fucked up that Jensen hasn’t a hope of deciphering it.

“Fuck--fuck, no,” Jared says, jerks away like Jensen’s about to beat him. “I don’t--Jensen, did he  _ make  _ you keep that in?” Jared yells, and Jensen’s face falls and then twists, horribly.

Jensen looks like he’s gonna scream, ice-cream-sundae dick all slick-wet and Jared’s body tugs him in seven different ways, wants him sucking Jensen down like a treat.

Jared’s two for two. He may be unfamiliar with the idea of fear, but he’s also clearly an idiot because Jensen’s looking at him like he’s the beginning and the sum.

“Jen. Jen, baby, I don’t wanna fuck you,” Jared tries, and Jensen recoils, bends over halfway to catch his jeans and drag them back up.

“Jesus, not like that,” Jared fumbles, “I wanna fuck you. I do. Shit, I always wanna bend you over and stuff you full--” Jared tries again, and Jensen’s cheeks flush-dirty but his eyes are still unencumbered violence.

“I don’t wanna do it like this,” Jared says, and then he straightens, remembers what he really needs to talk to Jensen about.

It’s such a shame, too, because Jensen’s never gonna let him near that sweet peach of an ass ever again.

“Jensen, you--you know I really care about you, right?” Jared asks, and Jensen’s eyes flutter and his mouth tips up.

“That’s real pretty, Jare,” Jensen says, but Jared’s heart feels like it’s chained and headed down toward oblivion.

“You got no idea,” Jared breathes, and Jensen’s turning fully, headed toward his bedroom. He’s about to lock Jared out.

Jared uses the four extra inches in height God blessed him with and catches Jensen around the upper arm, spins him back into place with a strength he regrets as soon as Jensen whimpers in pain.

“You think I’m this crazy over everyone?” Jared asks, and Jensen keeps his head low, doesn’t honor Jared with a response.

“I wanted you since I first saw you on campus,” Jared says, plays his only ace and Jensen’s eyes fly up to his face in utter shock.

“Surprise,” Jared says dully, and Jensen’s lip is tucked neatly underneath a porcelain cage of teeth.

“Ask Chad if you don’t believe me,” Jared says, and Jensen has yet to speak; he’s following Jared’s mouth like it’s gonna leap off his face if he dares tell a lie using it.

“You’re telling me that you,” Jensen says dryly, disbelievingly, “The King, saw me at Berk and didn’t bother speaking to me?”

Jared knows it sounds stupid, it certainly does now, but he wasn’t always at the top of his game. People always found him attractive, that’s always been true, but Jensen doesn’t seem to get what the fuck he actually looks like.

“You think you’re easy?” Jared laughs, and Jensen raises one brow in speculation. “You walk around looking like I should be plowing you six ways from Sunday and I’m just supposed to, what? Walk the fuck over?”

Jensen’s already shaking his head no, but Jared cups his chin in one warm palm and Jensen stills at the touch.

“I knew who you were before you even reviewed the Hound,” Jared admits, and Jensen’s eyes loosen; they’re swimming again and Jared doesn’t know what to do to make it right.

“I knew who the fuck you were ever since you walked into Gen-Ed Bio,” Jared says. “I’m not likely to forget any time soon.”

Jared wants to follow that up with how he always knew the color of Jensen’s eyes, pictured dragging him home, (Texas-home, Big-Gay-Love style) and then he started fucking slender, pale things on camera and got richer than God. Tainted money like oil and Jensen moved into his major classes and Berk ain’t exactly small.

Jared kept tabs and stayed in his own arena, neglected to drag Jensen into his world.

Jen ended up there anyway, and now he’s got this--this  _ other  _ looking up at him like Jared’s personally made sure he’s alive and breathing.

Jared rocks in place and Jensen’s cheek flood with understanding. 

“You serious?” Jared nods twice, frantic.  _ When you dumped me the first time I thought that was it  _ he thinks, but he only smiles sardonically and Jensen’s bow-mouth goes tight.

“I’m not scared of Jeff,” Jensen says, and then he does walk away, but he goes slow enough that he clearly expects Jared to follow, and Jared’s a good boy; he knows how to mind his manners.

“Then you’re just a pretty face,” Jared says sharply, and Jensen kicks his drawer shut with a shudder. 

“Whatever shit you got goin’ on with him,” Jensen says tersely, “that doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

Jared parks himself on the edge of the bed, (partially so that Jensen’s high ass will have to pass by him in order to get to his nightstand) and also because he plans to settle in for the long haul.

“You don’t get to play God,” Jensen says, pulls his shirt over his head and Jared remembers that his ass is still spread wide, that  _ Jeff fucking Morgan  _ got to see his boy flushed and sweaty, and the wooden knob at the foot of Jensen’s bed splinters in his unassuming grip.

Jensen squeaks and he’s naked, halfway in his bathroom, shower water already running.

“What the fuck?” he says over the spray, “what the fuck did you break?”

Jared stands, ignores the wood ingrained in his palm. “Did he touch you?” Jared’s heart quakes and he’s jealous but he’s also afraid, and Jensen’s face goes pinched.

“You asking if he stroked my dick and made me come,” Jensen says loosely, and Jared digs his fingers into the slick skin at the small of Jensen’s back.

He uses the grip to drag Jensen forward, Jensen’s naked chest against his clothed one. He’s always liked this look.

The bathroom’s steaming behind them, and Jared can see the hairs on Jensen’s forehead curling in the heat. Jared’s own back is tingling with sweat but Jensen’s hips are screwing in small circles, and God help him, Jensen’s a shit.

“Wanna know if big, bad, Jeff bent me over?” Jensen asks, and Jared quivers in fury-laced arousal. It’s not Jensen’s fault; Jared’s never told him enough for Jensen to realize how serious it is.

“Jesus,” Jared hisses, and Jensen grins like he  _ knows,  _ like he understands everything and is just waiting for Jared to lumber over, play catch up.

“Not that--not that I don’t--fuck, Jen, you gotta stop moving like that,  _ Jesus, _ ” Jared pleads, and Jensen’s hips undulate further, fat dick pressed to Jared’s abdomen.

“Take it out,” Jen begs, face pinched and upturned, dime-sized nipples practically chafing Jared with the catch and drag against cotton.

Both of Jared’s wide palms are carved around Jensen’s round ass, (when did that happen) fingertips digging in until Jared’s sure he’s making indentations in the skin.

Jensen’s arched into the touch and Jared moves his hands closer to the cleft, taps the edge of the plug with the side of his fist.

Jensen’s blossom-face screws up in pleasure and now Jared’s fucking pissed. He grabs hold of the plug and drags it free, barely contains any finesse in favor of not hurting Jensen.

Jensen’s fine mouth is open on a high whine and Jared immediately replaces the silicone with three fingers, digs them around so sloppy that Jensen keens and his eyes flutter shut completely.

He’s got both hands fisted in Jared’s shirt and the collar is fucked to hell but Jared’s harder than Viagra and Jensen’s the most precious thing he’s ever owned in all his life.

“Gonna--gonna fuck me?” Jensen begs, and Jared groans; how’s he supposed to ever deny Jensen  _ anything  _ when he sounds like that?

“Jen, I’ll do anything you want me to,” Jared says honestly, and Jensen’s lashes clump and stutter as he struggles to widen his eyes.

Jared’s fingers are slick-deep and Jared thinks he’s gonna bust in his jeans at this rate. He’s gonna cream his entire lower half and Jensen’s mouth pops open on a soft whine.

“Stop talkin’ and do it--unh--then,” Jensen demands, and Jared’s fumbling like he’s a virgin and it’s fucking sweltering in this bathroom, but he’s drunk on Jensen and that’s all there ever was.

Jared’s fingers slide free and Jensen’s rim is swollen and sensitive and Jared wants in yesterday.

He’s manhandled Jensen under the spray of the shower when he remembers that this is the last time Jensen’s gonna ever want to see him after this.

Jared’s a good guy, but no one ever said he was perfect.

-

Jared’s sitting on Jensen’s couch when he’s finally finished cleaning lube  _ and  _ the mountain of Padalecki come out of his ass, and Jensen kind of wants to curl up on his lap for a week and sleep.

Jared’s got both hands in a fist under his chin, and when he looks up, Jensen could swear he’s been crying.

“Jared? Jared, what’s wrong? Who do I need to fuck up?” Jensen can tell he’s overreacting, but Jared snorts his amusement out from between water-logged teeth.

“Not that I’m not happy you’re gonna defend my honor,” Jared teases, “but what, exactly, are you gonna fight that  _ I’m  _ not gonna be able to handle?”

Jared says it casually, hotly, and Jensen flushes all over, down to his still-sticky rim where Jared just busted and left him warm.

Jensen gets off on the fact that his boyfriend’s so big, but he never guessed that Jared would figure it out so soon. Jared’s about half a second away from looming, which Jensen is more than down for, but then he settles back on the couch and opens his hands in preemptive apology.

“I’m gonna tell you two things right now,” Jared says plainly, and Jensen nods dumb, like he’s cut his own tongue out and now Jared has to speak for him.

“The first one is hard because I keep my word and I don’t think you should need to know this to trust me, but, apparently, you need a little incentive.” Jared says this harshly and Jensen’s about to cuss him out to hell and back when Jared shakes his head.

“The second is even worse because you’re not gonna listen to me and I’m gonna miss seeing you wake up in the morning.”

“Jared--” Jensen tries, but Jared steamrolls right on past Go. “Your eyes are a different color when you wake up, y’know that?” Jared says, and Jensen tries to answer but Jared’s not talking to him; not really.

“Like grey and blue. Storm colors. Don’t ever last long, though,” Jared says thoughtfully, and then he scrubs his hands together like he’s ready to get to work.

“Once upon a time,” Jared says dryly, “Jeffrey Dean Morgan was the man that introduced me to the business and made sure I didn’t get kicked in the ass on the way up.”

Jensen wrings his hands together in anguish and steps closer to Jared. Jared holds up a hand and smiles sadly, out-of-place on his normally borderline-arrogant features.

“Good guy. There for all the firsts. Studio tried to sell me as a twink for a few movies,” Jared begins blandly, “but this is before I grew my first beard and hit puberty,” Jared chuckles.

Jared looks up then, sun slanting through Jensen’s half-shuttered blinds. “They didn’t know how big they make ‘em in Texas,” Jared says with a stretch, and Jensen’s chest spasms hotly and refuses to settle.

“Jeff gets me my first big contract,” Jared says fondly, and Jensen once again attempts to approach. Jared’s too engrossed to rebuff him this time and Jensen sits soundly, pulls his knees up to his chest like he hasn’t done since he was at least ten.

“Helps me get Chad on the scene, too,” Jared muses, and then he faces Jensen entirely, smile melancholy. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, lookin’ back,” Jared jokes.

Jensen laughs in response, but he’s already lost Jared again, still-damp shower hair and one of Jensen’s old soccer t-shirts that’s obscenely tight on him.

“He’s like--as close to a Dad as you get around here,” Jared explains, and Jensen nods again. “I introduced him to everyone. My girlfriend,” Jared says, and Jensen’s voice is snide when he mutters Lauren’s name.

“Yeah, Lo,” Jared says absently, and he picks at the hairs on his knees; Jensen knows he’s winding up for the punchline.

“My best friend,” Jared says plainly, and Jensen’s face wrinkles in confusion, but Jared’s plunging ahead.

“Other than Chad,” Jared says weakly, and Jensen knows better than to interrupt, hugs his knees tighter and thinks about grabbing Jared by the hand.

“He comes--he comes by to meet me. To meet me at the studio. I got--I got the biggest contract, Jen.” Jared pauses, voice thready.

“I got so much money I’m drowning in it, and there’s an emergency meeting right after the last shot. I figure, hey, he’s already down there; I’ll be like, ten minutes. Fifteen, tops.”

Jared shrugs and it reads more like a shudder, racks his big body so hard that he knocks into Jensen and almost topples him sideways.

Jared steadies him instantaneously and Jensen’s sweat-stained all over, doesn’t wanna hear what he thinks is shaping up to be nasty.

“Hour later, I’m pissed and I figure he got tired of waiting and went home,” Jared shakes his head, jaw twitching in residual anger. “Run into Jeff on the stairs. He’s buttoning up; I thought he just finished a scene.” Jared laughs, so high and self-deprecating that Jensen finally acts and squirms into Jared’s lap even though he’s not short, either.

He’s slight, more so than Jared by a long shot, and his forehead is pressed so tight to Jared’s shirt that he fears he’s gonna have collar-lines imprinted into his flesh.

Jared’s palm spans the still-soaked back of his head, and Jensen wiggles a bit in an attempt to get more comfortable.

It seems easier for Jared to speak to the crown of Jensen’s head, and Jensen fists his hands into the back of Jared’s shirt.

“He grins at me,” Jared says thickly, and it takes Jensen a minute to realize that Jared’s crying, and Jensen lets loose a small sob of his own in response.

“Hey, hey, baby, no,” Jared soothes, and Jensen laughs funny because he’s not the one that needs comforting. 

“You’re okay,” Jared murmurs, presses a sloppy kiss to the top of Jensen’s forehead and continues. “He’s tucking himself back in and he’s--he tells me it’s a good day.” Jared pauses. “Says, ‘it’s been a good day, J,” and then he leaves.”

Jared’s trembling, and Jensen holds onto him for stabilization. 

“I don’t know, Jen. I don’t know why it--I don’t know why it sat wrong. With me,” Jared says. “I go back into the room. It’s a soundstage. Don’t use it except to set up for the next scene.” 

Jared squeezes him so tightly that Jensen hears a rib door-creak but he doesn’t dare breathe past it.

“He’s still laying on the floor. Jeff left him in there--let him lay there, all open like that--” Jared’s words tumble out and down, choke him half to death and now Jensen’s fighting to get free so he can cup Jared’s face in his hands. 

“I don’t--” Jared’s wheezing and Jensen’s holding him now, knees outstretched on either side of Jared’s thighs, arms curled around his neck and head.

“I don’t know if he ever forgave me. I’m never gonna fucking forgive myself,” Jared’s neck hangs loose and Jensen grunts as he bears the weight of it.

“You already know it’s not your fault,” Jensen hisses, “you don’t need to hear me say it twenty more times,” he adds.

Jared laughs, watery sound. “I don’t need anything, Jen. I know how I am and I know what happened.”

Jensen shakes his head, horrified. That Jared’s carrying that around, that he’s got some kind of bastard  _ peace  _ about it.

“He wouldn’t let me take it to the cops. Or to the studio,” Jared says helplessly. “I haven’t told anyone but you, not in all this time,” Jared says blankly. 

“I’m not even supposed to talk about it,” Jared says, slumps backwards and sends Jensen falling forward against him.

“You gonna believe me,” Jared says hotly, grips Jensen so tight he knows he’s gonna be wearing more Padalecki bruises, but he thinks he understands now. “Next time I tell you to back the fuck off?” Jared’s shaking again, maybe he hasn’t stopped, and Jensen gets it. 

Jensen thinks about it, about how close Jeff was, the gleam in his eyes, the way he said Jared’s name like he was talking about a particularly virulent strain of poison.

Jensen trembles, and Jared locks his arms tighter.

“You know what I would’ve done,” Jared whispers, “if he touched you? Jesus Christ, Jensen,” Jared says, firm and hot against his ear.

“You understand that I would’ve killed him, right?” Jared says it so calmly that it sends a chill tripping down Jensen’s spine and he nods against Jared’s collarbone.

“Jensen, I was raised Catholic,” Jared says, and Jensen wants to snort, say, ‘it’s Texas, me too,’ but he keeps silent, knows Jared needs this, even if Jared doesn’t.

“I’ll kill him in front of man and God if he ever lays a hand on you,” Jared says, that same fire and brimstone monotone that’s got Jensen frightened and aroused in dizzying turns.

“I’ll try and listen to you, then,” Jensen croaks out, tries for a joke but it falls flat and settles into a promise, instead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hey, we FINALLY got a missing piece of this ridiculously convoluted puzzle! Thoughts! Thanks for giving me a kick in my (admittedly quite lazy) ass and helping me bang out more chapters!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all this is late as shit; I have no excuses. Thank my lovely friends over in the twitter!verse for brow-beating me into shaping this up (it's been a complete draft for around a month) and just posting it. 
> 
> This is an honest-to-God soap opera and my apologies for the twists this chapter takes.  
> THANK YOU if you're still here!

Chad’s got a hangover the size of the entire state of Texas, and he tells Kane about as much when the guy bangs on his bedroom door with all the finesse of a hog-tied bull.

“Murray!” he yells, voice cumbersome for the way that Chad’s trying to fiddle around for his light switch and leftover handle of Remy.

“Fucking A, Kane, what you got to be yelling about this early for?” Chad hollers back, but Kane audibly snorts from behind wood and plaster.

“It’s two in the afternoon, you ass,” and Chad grunts; he’s got a point.

“Lemme put pants on, unless you wanna see this ass first things first,” Chad yells, and he can actually hear Kane skitter back from the door.

Chad shoves his legs into a pair of sweats he thinks is Jared’s, tight around the waist but loose-fitting everywhere else, and almost smacks Kane with the liquor he’d scooped off his floor before exiting.

“You live here with him?” Kane asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. Chad squints at him, and Kane’s fully dressed, looks a sight better than he did when they dragged him home from the airport. He’s clearly showered, and he’s holding a cream-beige Stetson in one hand like they’re about to go visit Scarlett O’Hara.

Chad thinks about the plethora of hats he and Jared have from childhood, and wonders whether or not he ought to grab one.

“S’my best friend,” Chad slurs regrettably, and Kane grins, holds his hand out for the remnants of Remy. Chad’s gonna have to buy another to replace J’s and he’s already thinking about cracking open a second.

If he’s supposed to be babysitting Kane while Jared’s out, presumably preparing Jensen for this conversation, he’s gonna need all the alcohol he can get.

“Hard to believe that you can have one of those, idn’t it,” Chad says, and Kane’s mouth tightens. “I got friends enough, Murray.”

Chad laughs, grating to his own ears. He catches up a t-shirt from an armchair on his way past, one of his own; Jared’s fit like curtains.

Chad pads to the kitchen and tugs the refrigerator door wide, buries his entire face in the cool air and takes four deep breaths.

It’s the first of his hangover ritual, and he grabs a full carton of orange juice when he finally comes back up for air.

“You treat ‘em all as well as Jensen?” Chad hums under his breath and neatly sidesteps the blow that Kane aims at his shoulder.

Chad and Chris have fought often enough as kids to where Chad assumes his body still remembers self-preservation, and Kane chuckles in reluctant admiration.

“I wasn’t--I didn’t fucking abuse him or anything,” Kane says stiffly, and Chad nods to himself, grabs a bottle of original Texan hot sauce and upends it into his glass.

“I know,” Chad says blandly, “J wouldn’t let you keep walking if he thought you did anything like that.”

Chris looks perturbed for a second and then he nods to himself.

“Jensen and Padalecki,” Kane says quietly, “they serious?” Chad uses his pinky to stir in the spoonful of granulated sugar that tops the concoction off and raises a brow.

“You really asking me that?” Chad asks, neglecting to plug his nose against the taste because he’s done it so many times that it might as well be a shot.

“He’s not gonna give me a straight answer,” Kane says calmly, and winces when Chad drains the glass dry. He already feels his head clearing, sinuses wide.

“I think it was our junior year? Something, Jen shows up on campus and Jared’s been fucked up ever since.”

Kane scoops up the Remy with one hand and Chad allows it because his hangover has dissipated and he's gregarious that way.

“He didn't even know him then,” Kane says, mouth pursed. “Jen’s younger than us,” he adds, like just because Chad is a Taker Of No Shit, he's an idiot instead.

“No shit, Dumbledore,” Chad spits, and Kane’s forehead crinkles and his lips quirk. “You getting your lit crossed, Murray?” Kane asks, crosses socked feet at the ankles and Chad’s just ready to punch him in the trachea.

“I know you’ve only read the two books in your lifetime, but it’s never too late to branch out,” Kane continues, and Chad considers pouring Texas Pete into his eyes.

“Dumbledore knew everything from the beginning,” Chad explains, ignores the insults to his intelligence. “Made Harry a pawn from day one,” he adds, and Kane provides him with a strange look before giving up.

“I just want him to know how sorry I am,” Kane says, hangs his neck low enough that Chad wonders about his equilibrium. “I can’t ever fix him back right but he should know that I got this guilt. That I’m not gonna let him carry it alone.”

Chad shakes his head; he’s supposed to be at the studio in twenty and he’s not even packed his change of clothes yet.

“Jensen’s not gonna say a damn word to anybody once J tells him,” Chad predicts, eyes half-closed in early morning light.

“You’re gonna have to live with yourself, just like the rest of us.”

-

Jensen allows him to stay.

It’s not his best decision but certainly not his worst, and he can’t get over Jared’s face. He’s got his own demons to conquer and he’s out here battling Jensen’s because he’s never been told when to stand down.

Jensen can’t decide what shade of angry he feels right now.

He wants to strangle Jared, that’s for sure. He wants to take him by the hair and make him see that Jensen isn’t something that can be stitched back together and colored inside the lines.

He can’t imagine what Jared thinks of him, now that he thinks he knows what happened ten years ago in a yawning cathedral suffocating on Catholic guilt.

That Jared’s been looking at him this long and seeing him all crooked, his chest tightens and he chokes on what he thinks is an almost-sob.

Jared’s hair is still fanned out against his pillow, strong collarbone jutting out from underneath Jensen’s blankets.

It’s strange to see Jared here, all swallowed up by Jensen’s small life. His apartment is about as big as Jared’s hotel of a kitchen, a place that sees nothing but steaks and Chad’s all-too occasional vom-sesh.

All Jensen knows is that he can’t be here when Jared wakes up. He can’t sit in this place and watch Jared pretend that he hasn’t seen Jensen for what he truly is.

He knows that he’s got to face Chris at some point--and Chris’ highlights are the same reasons they struggled so much as children--Chris is stubborn to a fault.

He’s flown all this way in search of absolution, and, if Jensen’s totally honest with himself, well-deserved guilt, and he won’t leave until he’s gotten it.

He scrambles up from his edge of the bed, ever thankful that Jared sleeps like the dead (their kryptonite during any form of burglary, he jokes) and grabs the first pair of pants his hands touch.

They’re Adidas sweats and he’s got a matching hoodie and he feels generally like a tool but he’s gonna leave Jared in this empty place and just, drive.

He’s gonna leave the city or maybe the state and none of them are gonna be able to find him. Not Misha, not Danneel and certainly not Jared.

He can’t tell if he’s ever going to be ready to see Jared again.

-

Gerald Padalecki is a businessman.

He’s never been oil like his wife’s side of the family, but he figures that just means he’s had to work extra hard for his money and he’s not been spoon-fed.

He’s got his Ph.D in Economics and his MBA and they’re both from his son’s alma mater.

He’s worked for everything he’s got.

He’s also aware of what his son does for a living, and, surprisingly, he’s never cared nearly as much as his wife had.

Sherri’s always been far more lenient with Jared, even at the expense of his siblings, but it took her months to come around and accept that Jared was just going to be the black sheep and that was the end of that.

Gerald, on the other hand, understands that sometimes a man’s gotta get out there and make his own way.

He’s not exactly keen on the way Jared left home to begin with, weeks early with that Murray kid in tow, but that’s all water under the bridge now.

Jared’s never been one to back down from a fight,

_Put your fucking chest into it, J_

And any high-brow oil-wives that turn their noses up at him get a scathing remark and a reminder that Sherri’s maiden name provides more money than most know what to do with, including some of Kane’s old holdings.

So when that self-same Murray kid rings him up in the dead of night, and asks him what, exactly, went on with Rebecca Kane some ten odd years ago, Gerald Padalecki is rightly disturbed.

He is also not overly fond of other people snooping around in business he’s done very well keeping quiet.

_I need you to tell me what happened with Rebecca Kane._

_I’m gonna need you to be more specific here, Chad. What, exactly, are you referrin’ to?_

_Mr. P, there’s a lot that you’re gonna have to reckon for when you meet the biggest Dick in the sky, but right now I don’t need any’a your bullshit._

_Well, now, Chad, you’re the one calling me, so I can only assume you wanted a bite of it to begin with._

_What happened that day, Mr. P? It was just before--right before we left. None of y’all knew we were going yet. We barely knew we were going._

_Chad, your mother’s got a lot of personal help, doesn’t she?_

There’s a lull.

_And she’s going to be good enough for you to be able to see her this year, maybe for the holidays?_

_Now you think on that, boy. You remember just who I am and who you are. My boy may have taken you in, but his ways are not mine._

_You remember my name, Murray._

The kid hangs up, quick _clink_ of a dial-tone and Gerald thinks he maybe went too far.

He’s heavy-handed for a reason, but he’s not about to let Jared’s orphan stick his nose in affairs that have remained locked for a reason.

He stands, cracks his back in the open room of his study and listens for Megan to run upstairs and change before her track meet.

Regular as clockwork she skirts past the door, flings a “Daddy,” behind her, and Gerald checks his planner, sees that his wife has a late lunch.

Jeff isn’t due back in town for another two weeks and Gerald has never been a fan of loose ends.

Perhaps it’s time to make a house call.

-

 

Jared wakes up to the shrill sound of his own alarm and it sends him careening off of a bed that’s three sizes too small for his brawn.

He clips his hip on a dresser he doesn’t remember moving and his alarm is still blaring, some annoying mix from Megs that’s sure to get him up in the morning.

He’s still rubbing the crust from his eyes when he finally registers that he’s alone in Jensen’s apartment.

There’s also a letter, hastily written in what, Jared notes in consternation, is a shaky hand.

_Please leave the key under the potted scarecrow._

_Not the one with the black shirt; the Where’s Waldo one._

_I left my phone on the counter, please don’t try and come after me. I know you’ll want to._

_I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to be with you._

The note ends there, sentence spiraling off of the lines and down into the margins, and the ink is still damp in some places.

He’s made Jensen _cry._

He’s made him cry and now he’s let him leave and he really didn’t anticipate it being this hard. He made jokes and he figured Jensen would kick him out, but he didn’t think Jensen would leave. He honestly didn’t think everything would take such a vicious left turn.

It makes him cringe to recall the stricken look on Jen’s face, like Jared had just castrated him, murdered his mother in cold blood.

And the shaking. Full body trembles like Jensen couldn’t find warmth, didn’t remember the taste or the sound of it.

He didn’t scream.

That’s the worst of it all. He didn’t make a sound, just started making these ugly noises, tasted like salt and rot and Jared should have never pried.

He never should have talked to Kane and then Jensen could’ve kept everything buried down low so he never had to let it taste the sun.

Jared wastes precious seconds looking for his pants, and his boxers are halfway clinging to one leg when his phone rings again, _Jeremy_ almost as loud as his earlier tone.

“Two things,” Chad starts, sounds like he’s in an echo-space, which probably means he just finished hurling whatever he drank last night into porcelain.

“First,” Chad begins, and there’s a clatter in the background and then a resounding _fuck_ that Jared snorts at in spite of himself.

“Kane, if’n you can’t hold your damn liquor there ain’t no need to drink it this fucking early!” Chad coughs violently and Kane curses once more.

“I c’n--I got everything you got, Murray. Now do me kindly and move your ass before you really got a reason to hate me--”

The phone cuts short and Jared upends Jensen’s bed, keys jangling tauntingly from within the sheets.

Chad gags and then he’s back, voice brisque.

“First, you gotta be on set in an hour. You’re supposed to re-shoot a scene with that kid--the pretty one,” Chad flounders, and Jared squints in confusion.

“They’re all pretty, Chad,” Jared grunts, and Chad makes an affirmative sound and glass clinks once more.

“They tried calling you earlier this morning,” Chad says, and Jared doesn’t bother checking his missed messages. He supposes they did.

He writes his own contracts, got a team of powerhouse lawyers that he’d handpicked when he was younger and he and Chad had first become a household name in the industry.

They can damn well wait until he figures out in what direction Jensen decided to drive. And then he’s going after him.

“J,” Chad repeats, louder this time, so Jared knows it’s been on loop. “Second, Kane wants to know when he can talk to Jensen,” Chad says, and Jared must make a strange sound because Chad backpedals immediately.

“Jared. Jared,” Chad continues, “don’t do it. Either you come back here or I come after you,” Chad says, and he grunts as he stands, Kane’s voice echoing across Jared’s walls.

“Where the hell is he?” Kane’s voice is warbled and Chad spares no words. “Shut the fuck up,” Chad demands and Jared’s shoving the silver key in the middle of the scarecrow as he jogs down the walkway.

“I’m about to find him,” Jared promises, and he trips his fingers over the wood inlay of his wheel as he reverses in a rush.

“J,” Chad tries, and then there’s a grappling and suddenly Kane’s on the other end, voice deep and resonate.

“Jared,” Kane begins, and Jared runs a stop sign and a red light in that order. “You had your chance. I let you talk to him private, let you do it for me.”

Mahogany creaks underneath ten and Jared takes four deep breaths, tries to understand that Jensen wants to be left alone.

Jensen doesn’t want to see him.

“You’re not from around here,” Jared grits out, “where are you planning on looking?”

“Well now, you let me take care of that.”

-

Jensen reaches for his phone three times before he realizes that he’s left it on his nightstand for Jared to contemplate.

He’s going 75 in a 55 and he doesn’t plan on slowing until he’s gotten to LAX, gone all the way home with just the clothes on his back.

His mother’s never gonna let him leave after this, and his dad--his dad is probably going to kill Mrs. Kane, just like Jensen convinced him not to do so many years ago.

He never thought that he’d be rushing _home,_ but save one enemy, everything he ever hid from is now within driving distance, and that’s not something he can stand for.

He’s slowing to a respectable speed, down to 45 so that he can see past the shine of tears that’s collecting against his will--when he catches sight of a rapid motion in his peripheral.

He coasts to a stop, honors the red light and there’s someone waving at him, tall and vibrant if he recognizes anything--

The man’s hair is close-cropped to his head these days but he’s grinning widely. Slow motion, reverse, his face tilts in horror and he begins waving again, more vigorously, arms outstretched.

“Jensen! Jensen, Jesus fucking Christ, Jen--”

There’s a squeal of rubber.

It’s green.

-

Jared makes it to work with two minutes and fourteen seconds to spare.

He’s disheveled but he’s made it work before and so he plasters on a smile and runs both hands through his hair.

He doesn’t think he can stomach seeing Jeff today, not after disclosing long-since buried shit, but it’s a Saturday and Jeff tends to avoid those.

Wardrobe squeals over him, pulls him out of Nike and a workout T and hands him a towel for the idea of modesty.

Jared drapes it over his left shoulder and closes his eyes, leans back in the corner of his dressing room and tries to figure out how he’s gonna get it up when he let Kane go after Jensen alone.

_I don’t want to be with you._

Jared grunts, feels thickness in his chest and he thinks he might have to take a Viagra or two to get him loose enough for this scene.

Jim says it’s just a re-shoot to tighten up some angles, all Jared really needs to do is cream the kid’s ass and his hole, maybe slap it around a bit for some color and Jared can crawl back to his house and see if Chad’s left him any top-shelf to spare.

He scans his walls; all the awards that Chad hasn’t gathered home for their combined case remain here, adorning a space that’s rapidly becoming too large for him.

They’re gonna come oil him down any minute, but first they’ve got to get his dick to cooperate when the only thing he can think about is the way Jensen looks split open on it.

He could be without that if Jen would just exist within his life. Call one of them, anything.

He’s barely aware of his door opening, soft crack, and his back is turned to the fluffer.

He’s already cradling his dick, willing it to hardness the same way he always does when he’s not in the mood, but the stranger clears their throat and Jared peeks beyond his shoulder.

It’s just Brock, eyes slightly wide at having seen Jared pre-shoot. He’s still in his robe; it sways gently above his cock, soft and untouched, and his lashes sprinkle heavily on rose-cheeks.

_The pretty one_

Jared looks objectively, turns fully, and Brock’s mouth opens and closes; he’s ringing his hands in that barely-there fabric and he’s already backing toward the door.

“They told me you were ready,” Brock breathes, still gentle even though Jared’s seen him fucked in five movies thus far, all split-lovely on some other dick with his baby-sweet mouth.

“C’mere,” Jared says quietly, and Brock stumbles forward; his face is so dark it’s almost cherried and Jared suddenly wants to feel the heat of it.

“They want me to stuff you full again, huh?” Jared asks, and Brock’s eyes widen beyond belief. “Y-yes, but just. Just for a quick sh-shoot,” he tries, and Jared laughs, how can he not?

“They know you’re scared of me,” Jared says, it bears repeating, and Brock laughs, much the same as he had a few months ago.

“Not of you. Still scared of that, though,” he says, motions to the sudden interest south of Jared’s navel.

“Come on and make friends, then,” Jared says, speaks on autopilot to this pretty child with the open face. It chisels away to have all that directed to him.

“Shouldn’t we wait--are we gonna wait until they call lights?”

“They’re gonna like the way you look on camera, baby,” Jared croons, modulates his voice in that careful way and he can’t explain why he’s so ugly right now; he can’t stand to see himself.

Brock whimpers and he’s currently so hard that there’s no point in him having anything on at all. Jared drags him forward, knocks cloth loose and bares the boy’s lithe body to his view.

He examines it with more than the cursory view than he had the first time, and it’s beautiful. It’s trim and sparse and it’s nothing.

Brock’s legs are shaking and then he’s pressing the long line of himself against Jared’s thigh, reaches up limber arms to snake around Jared’s neck.

“Is this--is this okay?” He’s speaking more than last time and Jared thumbs his lower lip, dents it with his thumb.

“Get yourself off on me,” Jared says abruptly, his own cock is thick and long against his stomach, juts into Brock’s abdomen and the kid shivers minutely.

“Will they be mad,” he whispers, and Jared laughs, pinched and hard.

“Not at you, baby. They’re not gonna touch you.”

Brock groans, undulates against Jared’s side, sticky-sweet cockhead catching on sinew and bone. Brock works frantically, pulse clicking in his throat and Jared watches in detached fascination as he comes, little grunts of pleasure as he slicks Jared’s abs.

He collects the excess and Brock’s still blinking free of his orgasm but Jared whirls him around, warm ass pressed against Jared’s groin.

Brock moans once more and makes a hitching sound as Jared uses one finger to press his own come in the already-stretched warmth of his hole, mix lube and cream to make it pretty.

Brock’s neck stretches heated before him, trembling in Jared’s grasp.

Jared releases him, tugs him upright and Brock sways on his feet.

This is the way that Jim likes ‘em, sends them to Jared ahead of time so he can fuck them out before they hit camera.

He’ll be by soon so as not to lose the fresh look for the frame, and Jared’s hard enough to do the scene and then cut out.

He wants to bury himself in this boy’s soft parts, dismantle him piece by piece, but Jensen’s got no love for him and Jared can’t make himself work right without it.

He promised Kane the amount of time it took to shoot this scene. No more, no less.

He’s a selfish son of a bitch, would rather Kane not even get close to finding him before Jared gets his chance.

At this point, he’ll take a sign from God.

-

He’s not a particularly kind man.

At least, he wasn’t several years ago, but he likes to think he’s reformed himself, he’s become something more than what he once claimed to be.

He’s supposed to be in town for his sister’s wedding, nevermind that he’s been trying to figure out how to concoct a moment _not quite_ like this, but that’s beyond the point.

Now, he’s running across the street, nevermind that he’s got his own car and it’s idling in the parking lot of the Grill, forgotten.

Jensen still drives the same cobalt-blue finish, Hyundai or Honda or something like that, but then, the back is smashed to bits now and his car has careened into the intersection.

The front of the Lexus at fault is almost as bad as Jensen’s rear, airbags deployed.

Jensen got the best of it; it’s not head-on but it’s definitely violent enough to have moved him into the center of the road. He reaches the vehicle out of breath, mouth wide, and jerks the door wide.

Jensen’s slumped forward over his wheel, bruise blossoming over the pale of his forehead.

He wants to smother him, drag him upright, but he’s shaking too badly and he seems to remember that he shouldn’t touch.

He’s not supposed to _touch._ They’re going to need to examine him and he could have internal bleeding.

He’s got his phone out even as he gently wanders around the front of the car; Jensen’s shaking through the windshield.

“Jensen? Hey, Jensen, sweetheart?” The endearment slips unbidden but Jensen groans once and falls silent.

“What’s your emergency?”

He blinks at the sound of urgency but then plunges ahead, one fist in his pocket.

“Hey, hey, yes, there was an accident at LAX, near Terminal 5, someone rear-ended my friend.”

He’s talking too quickly but the dispatcher is patient, even kind.

“Name, sir?”

“J-Jensen, Jensen Ackles. He’s unconscious right now but I’m sure he’s got a wallet--or--or something on him for like, like--”

“Not his name, sir, what’s your name; we have emergency services heading your way.”

“Oh--Oh, Jesus. I’m Ty. Tyler Olsson and I really need y’all to fucking hurry.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys, you gotta have THOUSANDS of theories for me now. I can't wait to see what you think!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so proud of there not being a three month wait in between chapters BLESS IT

It begins like this. 

They're monitoring him; he's hooked up to IV drips and heart-rate monitors and they're throwing around words like “concussed.”

They tell him it's non-lethal and that, “his boyfriend should be just fine with some rest and a stress-free environment.”

Ty thinks he should probably call Jensen’s mother but he can't find Jensen’s phone anywhere in his car or on his person, and he doesn't even know if Jensen still lives in the same place. 

He also doesn't want to leave if Jensen wakes up, because he gets disoriented in the mornings. He can’t think straight and who’s to say it's not that much worse right now?

He's basically got his hands tangled in Jensen’s paler ones, and he's trying to figure out which way is up when Jensen finally  _ finally  _ opens his eyes. 

It's been around six hours and he tries to recall whether or not they needed to sedate him or something, but he's shit in crisis and he's surprised he made it this far. 

“Fuck,  _ fuck,”  _ Jensen murmurs, and Ty grins against his will. 

“Either I'm in hell or this is real,” Jensen says, squints hard in Ty’s direction. 

“Neither of them is exactly pleasant, either way,” Jensen adds, and Ty’s hand spasms before he disentangles their fingers reluctantly. 

“You were in an accident,” he supplies, and Jensen’s brow furrows in understanding. 

“At the light,” he says, slow and stunted. “I don't. I don't see how you’re here, though.”

Ty nods; it would confuse him to see his ex when he woke up, regardless of circumstance. 

“I'm in town for Lila’s wedding,” he admits, and Jensen nods and then thinks better of it, mewls in pain. Ty’s hand comes up to stroke his brow and Jensen’s eyes flutter wide in what can only be described as fear. 

“I'm not--Jensen, I recognized your car. At the intersection.” I was trying to get your attention and then I saw that the car behind you--the Lexus, it wasn't slowing down.”

Jensen’s breathing heavily and he's almost colorless. Ty thinks that maybe he shouldn't be saying all of this.

“But hey, you're okay. You're fine now, they said it was just a concussion. You're supposed to take it easy,” he continues, but Jensen’s breath is still shallow. 

“Do you want--is there anybody I should call, Jensen?” Ty wrings his hands out and thinks about leaving Jensen alone, doubling his mistakes. 

Jensen bites his lip like he's trying to recall who he’d ask and Ty shivers in his seat.

“I don’t want my mother to find out,” he says sharply, and Ty grins, lopsided. “I didn’t figure you would,” he lies, but Jensen’s still unsmiling.

“Just. Don’t worry about it.” Jensen says this last with finality, and Ty tenses. 

“How’re you getting home then?” Jensen’s mouth remains shut and Ty curses under his breath. “Still fucking stubborn for no good reason, I see?” 

Jensen flinches and Ty feels bad but he’s also not prepared to leave Jensen alone in the hospital when he can’t even remember what happened earlier today.

“I’ve got my wallet and I’m sure the hospital isn’t gonna stop me from using a phone to call a cab,” Jensen says snidely, and Ty already wants to shake him.

“Jense,” Ty begins, but Jensen’s turning his head away. “You can go. Tell Lila I hope she has a great day.” 

Ty knows he’s about to be shut out so he really can be excused for the the hand he drops on Jensen’s collarbone.

Jensen lets out a pitiful whimper and attempts to jerk away, sending a shockwave of pain through his skull. Ty winds his hand back and Jensen doesn’t look at him; he’s too busy shuddering.

“I wouldn’t--Jensen, you gotta believe me here. It’s not like that anymore.” Ty wants to talk about the elephant in the room, especially because Jensen’s never gonna willingly speak to him again.

“They made me take some classes,” Ty says carefully, and Jensen makes a wet sound. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to matter now?” Jensen deflates, sighs his way through the sentence and Ty wrings his hands together.

Jensen’s neck is flushed and his whole body trembles minutely. He shouldn’t do this here. 

“Can I--I’m just gonna drop you off. I want you to know how--I’m sorry.” Ty looks down at his fingers, flexes them in discomfort.

Jensen ignores him.

-

“There ain’t no reason for you to tag along, boy,” Chris says, and Chad rolls his eyes to high heaven and settles himself behind the wheel.

“You don’t have a fucking car here, man,” Chad says, and Chris knocks his Stetson back so that it rests on the edge of his forehead.

“Last I checked I got a lot of money on my hands,” Chris says, and Chad grinds his teeth together. If he hadn’t grown up with these entitled sons of bitches he’d be knocking Kane out right about now.

Jared’s got a lot of redeemable qualities, but he still doesn’t know what it’s like to go to bed hungry, and he never will.

Chad flexes his fingers around mahogany and pointedly ignores Chris.

“We need to talk to his best friend,” Chad says shortly, and Kane’s legs sag wide, taking up all that space like the oil-baby he is.

Chad wants to knee him in the groin but that’s just out of principle.

“Alright,” Chris drawls, and Chad takes the left.

“Her name’s Danneel, and once she finds out what happened she’s not gonna be too set on helping us anyway.” Chad pauses. “We’ll call her as a last resort,” Chad amends, and Chris sighs for the first time since this ordeal began. Chad sneaks a look at him.

“We fucked this all to shit, didn’t we?”

Chad snorts.

“I was never coming for Jensen’s ass, so I’m probably the least guilty of all of us.” Chad pauses to watch Kane redden.

“Also, you and J are both toppy motherfuckers and, like Jensen, I’d rather get split wide.” Kane’s knee bounces and thumps against Chad’s dashboard.

Chad snorts to himself and takes his exit.

“Don’t ruin my upholstery, Kane,” he says, ignoring the bird Chris flips him in reply.

-

Jared doesn’t exactly think that Jensen is just gonna waltz up to his house when he so clearly told Jared he didn’t want to see him again, but he also can’t sit idle while Kane goes out and finds Jensen first.

His body is floating in that no-space one falls into after getting off, and his dick’s nestled against his thigh, still moderately obscene after coming.

He taps one hand on his knee and the other on his wheel and tries not to look like the stalker he is.

He’s given Jensen’s phone to Kane, begrudgingly, and he’s sure he’s gonna scour the contents until someone bothers telling them where Jen’s hiding out. 

He’s startled by the sound of his own phone ringing but he keeps a lookout at Jensen’s small driveway nonetheless. 

He answers without looking and immediately regrets it.

“Jared? Jared, listen, you gotta come over. You need to hurry,” Lo’s voice is breathless and Jared sits up in alarm.

“What’s going on? Is it Ryan?” 

He can hear Ryan crying in the background and he glances up at Jensen’s empty street once before shifting into drive.

“Tom’s--Tom’s here,” she says, voice loud. “He’s drunk and he’s  _ scaring him, _ ” she continues, and then she’s screaming shrilly.

“Jesus! Jesus, Tom, put him down. Huh? Please put him down--” the phone clatters and now it’s muffled but Jared can just make out the tilted timbre of Tom’s voice.

Jensen doesn’t want him anymore.

Jensen’s got no desire to talk to him and he’s here looking like an ass waiting for his ex to show up.

“Lauren?” he calls, but the phone’s become eerily silent and it’s a twenty minute drive from Jensen to her place.

He inches forward, peering behind him to check traffic and he almost misses the Audi pulling into Jensen’s driveway. He presses his phone to his ear in order to better listen as he watches a dark-haired man clamber out the driver’s side.

The man’s tall, maybe the same height as Jensen, and he opens the passenger door and tucks one arm underneath Jensen’s weight.

Jensen’s carrying himself stiffly, doesn’t bother looking up at the man but he leans heavily against him regardless. 

He’s carrying himself gingerly and he’s got gauze wrapped around his forehead.

They’re making slow progress to Jensen’s front door and sound begins to trickle through to Jared’s head at the same time that he slams his car in park and unlocks his doors. 

He’s driving his Tesla today in the hopes that Jensen wouldn’t recognize his car and it seems it worked too well.

He’s already out and slamming his door, phone still jammed against his ear, Ryan silent and Tom yelling.

Jensen turns around first at the loud sound and winces suddenly, sagging in Stranger’s hold.

“What the fuck happened?” Jared bites his tongue and puts his phone on mute, takes in the scene with fearful eyes.

Stranger balances Jensen’s weight and turns to face Jared, eyes wide.

“Is this--are you--” Guy’s having a hard time wrapping his mind around exactly who Jared is, but Jared doesn’t have time for a fanboy right now.

“What’s wrong with you,” Jared says, hands fluttering around Jensen’s wound. Jensen sucks in his air and jerks away from his reach.

“Who the fuck are you?” Jared asks, doesn’t take his eyes off of Jensen’s pale and quivering form.

“He’s a friend,” Jensen says stiffly, before Guy can answer. “I just wanna go lay down. Can you go be top dog somewhere else, please?”

Jensen won’t meet his eyes but his head is lolling on his shoulders and Guy is still looking at him like Jared personally caught him with his pants around his ankles.

“He was in an accident,” Guy provides, face awestruck but voice more than a little hard. Chagrined, maybe.

_ “He’s _ right here,” Jensen says tiredly, and Jared thinks of Jensen’s dismissal, the utter contempt in his face when he’d looked up to find Jared there.

The lack of surprise.

He’s been pressing Jensen past his boundaries and reserves from the very beginning. You can’t make someone love you, no matter how much time and effort you put into it.

Of all people, he should know that. 

He glances at Jensen, commits him to memory. 

“Hey,” Jared says, and Jensen must hear it in his voice, jerks his head up to meet Jared’s gaze. 

“M’gonna put you to bed and then I’m gonna head out.” Jensen’s eyes are wide and frantic but he doesn’t say anything to Jared’s proclamation.

Guy’s mouth is open as well but but he doesn’t have anything to add to the conversation.

Jared’s gentle when he places Jensen’s arms around his neck and Jensen locks his palms together and Jared hoists him the rest of the way up.

Guy backs up, spine hitting Jensen’s doorframe and Jared takes the key from Jensen’s palm and unlocks the door, supports Jensen’s deadweight with his thigh.

Jensen’s legs are curled around the cut of his waist and Jared’s heart trips unevenly in his chest.

He’s never given up on anything that he wanted; his father made sure he knew exactly why that was disallowed.

Guy follows behind them at a turtle’s pace, makes cumbersome noises that Jensen winces into. Jared resists the urge to press Jensen’s face into his collarbone and shivers a bit as Jensen’s breath hits his neck.

Walk’s over too soon and Jared can’t even say goodbye with this stranger in the room.

“I’ll see you sometime,” Jared says, tries and fails to look everywhere but at Jensen. Jensen’s face is open, uncharacteristically, the same look he’d worn earlier when Jared told him exactly what they knew.

Jensen makes some kind of sound, cross between a whimper and a word but Jared turns on his heel, jogs down Jensen’s three steps and back to his idling car.

His phone is still on, but it’s dead silent and Jared stares hard at it for a second before peeling out of Jensen’s life.

-

Jensen quakes on his bed.

The inability to stop jars his head and he wants to cradle his temples with his hands but he’s too goddamned tired to attempt it.

Ty stands like a fish out of water for a second, head craned back to watch Jared’s hurried exit, and then he rounds on Jensen, face just as twisted as Jensen remembered.

It sends a frisson of horror through his body, on top of the feeling that something  _ horrible  _ just happened between he and Jared.

“You’re pretty, Jense,” Ty says carefully, all crooked and quiet and Jensen scrambles up his bed. Too fast, too soon.

“I leave and not only do you manage to open your legs in record time,” Ty begins, thoughtful, “but for  _ his  _ dick. For him.”

“You know he wanted you, back in school, right?” Ty says it conversationally, drops down to sit on the edge of Jensen’s bed and Jensen’s so  _ stupid. _

Ty hadn’t even sounded like himself, sounded like someone Jensen could talk to. Offered to take him home, even. Called the cops for him.

He shakes his head in disgust, allows the pain to crest and settle.

It’s the reason Ty always came back. Jensen leaves the door wide open for him.

“I--I know that,” Jensen says, stutters and curses in his head. “He told me that. What are you getting at, Ty?” Jensen hauls in his air, resolves not to let Ty scent his fear.

“You angry that his dick fills me better than yours ever could?” Ty’s eye twitches but he doesn’t move, and Jensen’s taken aback. That’s new.

“Just think it’s funny that he shows up to ream your ass. You that desperate for dick, Jense?” Ty laughs, low and loaded.

“Of all the cock you coulda had, too.”

Jensen’s fists tighten at his sides and he counts out his pulse in the throb of his head.

“You’ve got a lot of words for a guy who couldn’t get it up unless he thought about some pornstar’s dick--” Jensen hurries through the sentence, wants Ty to  _ feel  _ it before he reacts.

He’s not disappointed; Ty rears back, backhands him so quickly that his vision swims and he swallows instinctive bile.

His entire body dissolves into his bed, hit taking the rest of his strength with him.

Ty’s still standing, chest heaving with exertion and probably something uglier. “Jesus  _ fuck.”  _ He speaks in a whisper and Jensen can barely keep his eyes half-slitted to stare up at Ty’s face.

“Why do you do that, huh? Don’t you know how many classes I been taking?” Ty runs his hand through his hair, short-cropped to his head.

“Don’t you know how hard I’ve been working? Then I see you, I see you and you bring it all  _ back.”  _ Ty paces the length of Jensen’s room, gesticulates wildly.

“Why do you make it so hard on yourself?” The whites of Ty’s eyes are blinding and Jensen’s almost all the way to unconsciousness before Ty drags him up by his hair, too short to really be effective.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jensen wheezes, reaches up a palm to slap at Ty’s grip but it doesn’t connect and Ty releases of his own free will.

“This isn’t how I want it to  _ be,”  _ Ty repeats, and Jensen re-thinks his actions. Ty is easily antagonized and he can agree. He brought this on himself.

His head hangs limp on his pillow, feels like his brain is leaking out around his ears. It’s only a mild concussion, the other victim had sustained far worse injuries than Jensen.

“M’sorry,” Jensen gurgles; he’s so fucking exhausted. “I didn’t mean it.”

Ty cocks his head to the side and reaches behind Jensen to adjust his pillows. “I know. I know you didn’t mean it. You just get carried away sometimes,” Ty hushes him and Jensen’s having trouble with his thoughts, they’re like molasses right now.

Ty usually takes care of him when he’s sick, and he allows his cheek to fall into Ty’s open palm. “Sorry,” he slurs again, and he can just make out Ty’s nod.

“It’s okay, baby,” Ty soothes, runs his fingers down Jensen’s cheek and it burns a little bit but it’s kind of a dull ache beside the pain in his head.

“Hey, I’m gonna go find that tomato soup recipe that you like,” Ty continues, smiling fondly. “You rest. You’ll do better. You’re gonna get better next time, baby.”

Jensen’s too tired to answer, and anyway, he does really like that soup.

-

Jared just barely makes it in fifteen minutes and he wheels into Lo’s driveway so loudly that the tread on his tires audibly suffers from the strain.

He’s running before his car is fully off and he finds the door unlocked.

The foyer is in shambles and he almost busts his ass on what’s left of a Tonka truck. 

“RYAN!” He yells, more worried for the kid; two adults can handle themselves. He calls twice more and runs up the stairs to Ryan’s room.

There’s loud crying from within and Jared jiggles the doorknob, can’t get it open. He knows Lauren can lock it from the outside but he doesn’t have a key and so he rams into it bodily. The first hit is always the worst and Jared takes a deep breath and a running start.

His shoulder connects with wood once more and this time there’s a satisfying crack.

“Ry,” Jared calls, tries to keep the pain from lingering in his voice. “Hey, little man, back up, alright? Uncle J is playing giant again, okay?” Ryan’s cries taper off when he hears Jared’s voice, and Jared waits for the soft, “hokay,” before he’s winding his body back again.

Three more blows and the door splinters, broken wide enough for Jared to reach in and scoop the kid up. Ryan flings his arms around Jared’s neck and buries a snotty nose into Jared’s shirt.

“Hey buddy,” Jared soothes, runs his fingers in circles around Ryan’s heaving back. “Baby, where’s your mom?”

Ryan doesn’t move from his position even as Jared hurries through the house with the kid hanging like a limpet to his body.

“Dah-Daddy yellin,’” Ryan begins, and Jared sucks in a breath. Well, fuck. Tom’s still around, then.

There’s a commotion just outside the kitchen and then Jared hears another scream. Ryan squeals and Jared pauses in his voyage.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Jared tries, but Ryan’s already shaking his head, clings harder to Jared’s brawn.

“Ry,” he tries again. “Ry, I’m gonna get your Daddy to stop yelling at Mama, huh?” Ryan’s motionless. “But to do that, you gotta be good for me and stay in the living room, alright? You can play with your toys and I promise,” Jared pauses in order to make it stick.

“I swear, baby, I’ll come right back.” Ryan’s fingers flex, small but strong, “I’m just gonna make them be quiet.”

Lauren’s pleading from somewhere behind them and Jared’s heart hammers in his chest.

“F-five minutes,” Ryan says seriously, demanding, and Jared can’t help but give the kid a kind of watery laugh because only Lo could raise a child like that.

Jared supports his weight with one arm, kid balanced on his hip, and holds up one hand. “Got it, chief.” 

He sets Ryan down carefully and stays to watch as the kid darts into the living room, running as fast as his little legs can carry him.

It takes him three full strides to make it to the kitchen and when he gets there, he doesn’t expect the sight.

Lauren’s half dressed, tank top sliding off of slim shoulders and she’s got her hands clasped underneath her chin.

Tom’s hammered, sways in on his feet and he’s brandishing what looks like a cooking knife, stolen from their own set.

Lauren’s eyes flash over to his but most of her attention is on Tom.

Tom’s holding the blade up to his own throat but he’s not nearly coordinated enough to be successful if killing himself is what he’s really after.

“Tom,” Jared says carefully, “Tom, what’s going on, man?” Tom turns to look at him, handsome face drawn under the weight of liquor and shame.

“T-this, you did this. This was you--your fault,” Tom says, too loud for the room and Jared’s already been carrying this for years, doesn’t shudder at the blame.

“I know.” Jared says softly, and Lauren gasps. “That’s not,” she says, accent crisp and firm, “Thomas, that’s not at all what happened.”

She’s at her wits end with him and Jared holds up a hand.

“I did this,” Jared repeats, thinks about Tom and how he fell into Jared’s life, not long after he met Lauren.

He thinks about how they used to be and his chest stutters.

“You talk to me about how I can fix it,” Jared placates, but Tom steps further back, spine clips against the stove. 

“I tol’ you. We need to talk. We gotta--there’s shit he did, he talked to me so me an’ you. We need to siddown and talk.” Tom says it firmly, but his eyes are shining and Lo’s rocking on her heels.

“Lo,” Jared says without looking at her, “I promised little man I would be back in five minutes. He’s in the living room.” 

Lo pauses, throws him a look as if to say, “can you handle this?” Jared nods imperceptibly and she hurries from the room, bare feet padding on tile.

“Tom,” Jared says quickly, “Tom, if we need to talk about that son of a bitch, I’m here. Let’s do it.” Jared takes a step closer and Tom’s neck wobbles.

“But you’re not gonna fucking murder yourself in front of your kid, man.” Jared takes two more strides, puts himself right in Tom’s space and takes ahold of the wrist with the blade.

“Lemme talk to you. Huh? Can I talk to you?” Jared whispers the words against Tom’s mouth, careful and low, and catches the handle in his palm as Tom’s hand trembles and releases.

“I don’t wanna remember anymore,” Tom says, plaintive and broken and Jared cups his hand around Tom’s head and drags him in.

He hasn’t touched Tom in so long that the man settles awkwardly in his arms, but Tom’s hands wind around his waist and Jared breathes carefully.

There are two things he needs to handle.

He’s got to work on letting Jensen go, even though Jen’s injured and he’s not in a place to demand an explanation.

Then he needs to figure out how to murder Jeff Morgan.

-

“You call her,” Chad says, drops the IPhone in Kane’s lap.

Kane snorts, shoves it back. “Nah, man. You said she’s scary. You’ve met her, you do it.”

Chad shrugs. “Guess you’re too much of a bitch to make a call to save the dude you’re supposed to be in love with--” 

Kane growls and grabs at the phone but it lights up on its own. They lean forward together and knock heads, Kane cursing up a storm.

“It’s her,” Chad winces, and he drags the call to answer and clicks speaker before he and Kane can throttle one another.

“Jensen? Jensen, Jesus Christ, I tried to give you some space but you haven’t answered any of my texts--” 

Chad cuts her off before she can say something embarrassing. 

“Danni, it’s Chad,” he says, and she pauses before barreling ahead. “The Horse Guy? Christ, you still haven’t explained how you stretch and like, ride at the same time--is it a yoga thing? Because I’ve been taking Bikram and it’s definitely--” 

“Danni!” Chad interrupts, randomly chagrined about his career choices, even though he’s never had an inkling of shame before this.

Kane’s looking decisively at the phone and Danni’s picture is winking up at them. It looks like she and Jensen did some kind of underwear spread but before Chad can angle the phone to see the thumbnail better she’s speaking again.

“Where’s Jay?” her voice is reaching shrill octaves and Kane slouches back into his seat.

“Ma’am, this is his best friend, Christian Kane,” Kane says respectfully and Chad’s jaw drops a little bit because he’s never heard Kane be anything less than a little shit.

“He and Jared had a fight and he left his phone and damn near disappeared.” There’s another pause and then what sounds like Danni hyperventilating.

“Shit. Fuck. This is my fault. I never should’ve told Jared.” Chad’s opening his mouth but Danni doesn’t give him a chance to breathe. 

“Have you been looking for him?” Danni says, and Chad snorts. “You sure he’s not on your couch right now and you’re just trying to throw us off the scent?”

Kane raises his brows and nods in reluctant agreement.

“No you cockwhore,” Danni spits and then she’s sighing. “We looked everywhere we know of,” Chad supplies, and Danni hums.

“He’s either home, like, the Lone Star State-home, or he’s holed up at his place.”

Chad snorts. “Why would he be at his apartment? That’s the last--” Danni’s humming turns self-satisfied and Chad groans.

“Fuck. You telling me we’ve driven all over in LA traffic and he’s been home this whole time?” 

Danni makes a sound like she’s up and moving and then her voice trickles back, muffled.

“When you find him, tell him I’m coming over after work, and he can just go on and suck my clit if he’s got a problem with it.” Danni’s firm and Chad’s eyes widen suggestively.

“You sure you don’t mean--” 

“You’ve already got your mouth full with your feet up in it all the time,” Danni says and then the line dies abruptly.

Kane’s silent for a second and then he’s chortling, eyes welled up with tears. “Jesus, you ain’t kidding. She’s something else. Shut your damn ass up, that’s for sure.”

Chad aims the phone directly at Kane’s crotch and he’s blissfully satisfied when it connects.

-

Gerald’s not entirely sure why he’s got a visitor at his office this late in the day, especially on a weekend, but he closes out of his supplementary spreadsheet and minimizes the meeting minutes nonetheless. 

Gerald’s the only one here, putting in the extra hours needed for next week, and he looks up only when his visitor makes a small noise.

“Well then,” he says, “I just saw you.”

“Been a long time since I’ve visited you at work.”

Gerald chuckles, stands and adjusts the pleats in his slacks. 

“Well, the last time you were up here I had you bent double right over that there chair,” Gerald motions, grinning down at his guest.

She tilts her head up to meet his and smiles, places a proprietary hand on his ass.

“What can I do for you, Becca?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some reveals, some more pain, what're your thoughts?? (I promise it'll get better--eventually)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, hey! 
> 
> There's some triggering subject matter in this here chapter, scroll to the bottom if you'd like to be warned beforehand!
> 
> Addendum: once again, full of Unrealistic Drama™

Jensen wakes up to the warmth of someone at his back.

He figures it’s just Jared crawling in behind him after going for a run and his pulse clicks uncertainly in his head.

It’s only when unfamiliar fingers trip down his spine and under the warmth of his sleep pants that he realizes it’s not Jared at all.

He squirms away in apprehension but the hand tightens and tugs him back against a hard dick, grinds into him soft but purposeful.

Jensen flings out a hand for the edge of his bed and attempts to drag himself away but then there’s a sigh and Ty’s voice filters down low.

“Jense, baby, hold still. I know you’re tired, huh?”

Jensen’s forehead scrunches in some confusion but he’s gurgling a no nonetheless.

“Don’ wanna,” he tries, lethargic and cotton-headed. “Maybe later?” he tries; Ty’s usually so persistent and he doesn’t think he’s up to spread just now.

He feels like everything is just within reach but he can’t quite make it there and it’s scaring him.

“It’s been later,” Ty says reasonably, “haven’t seen you in so long. I’ve been--I worked real hard to be better. I don’t want to fight anymore.”

Ty’s hand travels down the crease of his ass and Jensen makes a high sort of whine, wet gasp for air.

“I just--Ty, m’head hurts. Maybe after I sleep more?” Jensen squeezes his eyes shut as Ty’s hand finally stops in its exploration, but Ty’s other palm comes up and lays gentle at the slope of Jensen’s throat.

It’s trembling, minute but visible, and Jensen’s chest is heaving.

“Why.”

Jensen’s confused, can’t understand what, exactly, Ty is asking of him.

“What’s changed? You still gagging for his dick? Is that it?” Ty’s voice swells a bit higher and Jensen can’t really breathe, not with the way Ty’s fingers are starting to dig in.

“I would think you’d wait for me, when I went away for us--f-for you,” Ty says, softer, closer to the cage of Jensen’s ear.

“Everything I did I wanted us to work. I was gonna come see you after Lila’s wedding. I want to make things _right.”_

Jensen’s arm is trapped underneath one side and there’s a strange gurgle coming from far off.

“How am I supposed to trust you? I _waited_ for you but you don’t know how to keep your legs closed?”

Jensen can feel the contents of his head leaking again, shuddering down temples and skin and marrow and Ty’s still muttering but it’s a monotone buzz.

His dick is leaking, nudging its way through Jensen’s pliant thighs and he thinks he’s gonna pass out.

There’s a low-level thump coming from somewhere and Jensen focuses on the pattern of it.

Abruptly there’s air, and it’s almost too much, too soon and Jensen is swimming with the advent of it, sprawled loose and weak in front of Ty.

“Who the fuck--?” Ty doesn’t mean for him to answer but Jensen attempts to stretch his neck and finds it’s almost excruciating to do so.

“Jesus,” Ty spits, standing and knocking the blankets back over Jensen, “why do you always do this shit to me? Huh?”

Jensen makes a croaking noise and shakes his head best he can.

“I dunno, m’sorry, please, just tell them to come back later,” Jensen says. His own voice is unrecognizable but he’s just not up to it.

Ty doesn’t make another sound but he does leave the room and Jensen exhales once and fades.

-

Chad debates on leaning against Jensen’s doorbell until it breaks but Kane is adamant that they just keep knocking.

“His car’s not here,” Chad supplies unhelpfully, and Kane shrugs.

“Your girl sounds like she knows Jay,” Kane says, crosses his arms over the broad expanse of chest before him.

“I don’t understand, man,” Chad says. “Clearly, the guy’s not here. I’m still not ruling out the idea that Danni’s got him on her couch right now, drinking--drinking fucking mimosas and braiding pussy hair--”

Kane’s halfway to grinning when they both hear a strange thump from within Jensen’s condo. It’s almost silent but it increases in volume as it reaches the front door.

Kane ducks his head abruptly and Chad sends him a strange glance as the door rattles and then peeks open.

Chad’s all ready to curse Jensen out for fucking disappearing on them, but Kane beats him to the punch, sidling in front of Chad even though he’s a few inches below Chad’s own height.

Kane’s bigger than him, though, built more like a linebacker and Chad moves out of the way due to a long honed sense of self-preservation.

It’s not Jensen’s face that they see, though, and Chad can’t keep his mouth wired shut.

“Who the fuck are you, man?” Chad colors as soon as he speaks and the stranger appears to take offense.

“You’re the visitor,” the man says, more coolly than Chad would’ve in the same situation.

“Excuse me,” Kane says shortly, same tone he’d last used when he and J had cornered him back at Big Kane’s funeral.

“I know the man that lives here,” Kane starts, “and you sure ain’t him.” Kane smiles, serrated thing, and Chad covers a snort with a cough.

Seems to him that he’s found Jared in a smaller body.

“If you’d be kind enough to tell me where he’s at, we could be outta your hair.” Kane’s face is decidedly blank of any emotion and Chad takes a deep breath.

“He’s not here,” Stranger says, lips curling infinitesimally. “I’m house sitting,” he adds, and his smile turns up completely.

“I’ll tell him you guys stopped by,” Stranger continues, and he’s making to shut the door, face still wide and eerily polite.

Chad’s about to tell this brown-haired shit-stain to get the fuck out of the way, but Kane’s hand comes up faster and then it’s snaked in the small space between door and frame.

His boot comes up afterwards, wedges the elongated toe into the lower crack and angles around to pass Chad his Stetson.

Chad places the felt on his head and drums his fingers on the band in memory.

“See,” Kane begins, still quiet, “I grew up in the south. We got a lot of snakes in the garden and you’re about as slick as they come.”

Stranger’s face is still calm, but there’s an undercurrent there that belies any harmless intent.

“I’ve known Jensen all my life, so if you knew him at any point, I’d remember you.” Kane face twitches even though all Chad can see is his profile and he knocks the hat back so he can view the spectacle better.

“I think,” Chad begins, molasses-languid, “he wants you to get the fuck out of the way.”

Stranger laughs shortly and makes to press the door shut again. “Like I said; I’ll tell him you stopped by. I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear it.”

Kane sighs, deep from the soles of his feet, and then he’s rearing backwards.

“Jesus fuck!” Chad hollers, skitters away from Kane’s bulk and watches as Kane’s fist connects to Stranger’s sternum with an accuracy that has Chad wondering just how often Kane’s been in this kind of situation.

Kane knocks the door all the way open with a nudge of his door-stop boot and Stranger staggers back so far from the blow that Chad’s got the chance to snake in behind Kane.

Kane turns to face him, mouth sliced on a smile and Chad can’t help but grin back, used to this kind of debauchery from being Jared’s best friend for all these years.

“See if Jensen’s here,” he commands, rolls up the edges of his sleeves as Stranger straightens from the stabilizing sprawl he’s got up against the door.

Stranger moves wire-sharp, bends a long body into a fighting stance that Chad eyes with chagrin and Kane views with something like excitement.

“Jen?” Chad calls, doesn’t worry about the fact that only Jared’s allowed to use the nickname, takes the corner to Jensen’s living room, and then skirts toward the only open door at the end of the hall.

“What’re you fighting so hard for, motherfucker?” Kane demands, and Chad jogs the few feet needed to duck his head inside the room and give the all clear.

What he finds is beyond his expectations.

Jensen’s here, alright. He’s got gauze wrapped around his head and he’s got a blossoming bruise on the entire right side of his face. It stretches from jawline to temple and it makes Chad ache to look.

Jensen’s head lolls on his pillows and his fingers make some kind of desperate twitch that Chad’s confused to see.

“Fuck. Fuck. Jensen, hey man, Jensen, can you hear me?” Chad breathes his words quietly, doesn’t want to jar Jensen if he’s resting--but the guy looks banged up to hell and back.

He creeps closer to the bed, already boiling with curdled rage because that asswipe in the foyer told them Jensen was out of fucking town--

And then Chad’s cussing, top of his lungs, Devil-may-come yelling because Jensen’s neck looks worse than his face, and that’s saying something.

If he was confused; he’s done, because Jensen’s neck is dotted claret and indigo, finger-stains in the shape of thumbs.

Jensen’s air rattles funny in his chest and his eyes blink up at Chad’s, effervescent and guileless and Chad realizes he’s trembling.

“Ah, ah,” he rasps, more sound than substance, and Chad reaches down for his hand.

“Kane!” He screams, voice barely leashed, “Kane! Christian!”

Chad hears the sound of his approach, heavy but sure-footed, boots one after the other. Kane’s out of breath when he rounds the corner and Chad rethinks his decision.

He reluctantly releases Jensen’s hand in order to place himself in front of Kane. Chris hasn’t quite seen everything yet, and Chad wraps both hands around his biceps.

“Take a minute, man. Just breathe, alright?” Chad’s hopes are futile because Kane’s knocking him out of the way and he’s next to the bed in the next two seconds, hands fisted in Jensen’s sheets.

Jensen’s neck turns fitfully and he gasps for air. “C-Chris,” he stutters, tries to raise a hand to his throat.

“What’re, what’s wrong?” He glances beyond Kane to look at Chad. “S’Jared okay?” his eyes widen with fear and what looks like tears and Kane’s visibly holding himself together.

“Hey there, baby,” he says softly, so open and bleak that Chad gets the distinct desire to turn away.

“Hey now, princess, what’re you doing all messed up like this?” Jensen shudders out a sigh and Chad looks up as something like a sob twists its way out of Kane’s mouth.

“It was him,” Chad says firmly, and Kane looks at him then, eyes already bloodshot. “Whoever that motherfucker is out there,” Chad explains, “there’s--look at ‘im, there’s fingerprints on his-- on his throat, Kane. Those are from his fucking hands--”

Chad doesn’t get any further because Kane’s turning to leave, strides out of the room and Jensen struggles to sit up, reaches empty fingers out for Chris.

“Tell him,” Jensen rasps, “go get him, please, Chad,” he begs, but Chad’s kind of loathe to leave his side.

He doesn’t have long to wait, considers listening to Jensen’s plea but Kane’s already jogging back into the bedroom.

“I should’ve--fuck. I should’ve killed him.” Kane’s tormented, his eyes dart around the room and land on Jensen only to flit away once more.

“I thought I knocked him out but he’s gone, took off like the motherfucking coward--” Kane crosses over to Jensen’s bed, palms entangled with navy.

“Who the hell is that, Jensen?” Kane’s voice rises several octaves and Jensen shrinks, ducks back into his pillows.

“What’s his fucking name?!” Kane’s voice carries and Chad grabs Kane’s shoulder violently. “You need to calm the fuck down,” Chad says, and Kane wrenches away, eyes bright, feral.

“You seen him? We looking at the same guy here?” Kane’s hands spasm, already bruised and shaded. Chad catches his fists together and tries to look as nonthreatening as possible.

“You need to shut up,” Chad says quietly, frames malevolent words with velvet. “You need to fix your face and you need to save this for later.”

Kane’s brow furrows but then he sneaks a glance at Jensen. Jensen’s in the fetal position, body curled so far in on itself that he’s barely visible in his own bed.

The sheets quiver with Jensen’s fear and Chad motions for Kane to stay back as he creeps closer.

“Jen?” He tries, modulates his voice the way he used to talk to his mother in the morning after. He’s rusty after years of disuse, but he remembers the cadence.

“I just wanna get you some place safe, okay? I don’t know who that guy was,” Chad says, curls his hand into a fist behind his back so Kane knows not to interject, “but I don’t think it’s gonna be cool if we stay here anymore.”

Chad’s heart is hammering in his chest as he glances down at the crest of Jensen’s head, medically pale and honeyed in tandem.

He’s got an unwelcome flashback, remembers boxing with Jared for hours, locked in J’s home gym, up and down until you couldn’t separate bruise from boy.

“Where?” Jensen says softly, and Kane’s boot scuffs the floor.

Jensen shivers and Chad turns just enough to flip Kane the bird.

“Not--not anywhere specific,” Chad says, “do you wanna--is Jared’s place okay?” Jensen’s body quivers so violently that Chad has to hold himself back from cradling Jensen close.

“Hey now, hey, that’s fine, it’s okay,” Chad soothes, “my place is a fucking mess,” he attempts at lighthearted, “so maybe, maybe I can call Danni and you can, maybe stay there?”

Jensen peeks out from underneath his cocoon and shakes his head, pupils dilated past sanity.

“I don’t want her to know,” he says softly. “She’s gonna be pissed,” he slurs, slightly medicated. He winces like he’s got a headache, and then dissolves back into his comforter.

“She’s gonna think--I fucked up, Chad,” Jensen whimpers, halfway to tears. “Jesus. I did it again. I--fuck. Fuck,” he says, and Chad wants to absolve him but he doesn’t know from what.

“Tell you what,” Chad says carefully, “can we just go down to the car? I just--I don’t want you in this house anymore, man,” Chad says stiffly, and Jensen nods, once.

He’s lethargic when he makes to stand and when he catches sight of Kane he presses himself into Chad’s side.

“K-Chris is here to help me,” Chad says, “I can’t carry your ass, no matter what tiara you choose to wear,” he quips.

The joke goes over Jensen’s head and it leaves a sour taste in Chad’s mouth. Jensen’s clearly not even halfway with it, and that’s more frightening than the rest.

“Don’t even worry about it, okay?” Jensen looks up confusedly and then nods, exhaustion overshadowing anything else. He allows Kane to help him rise but he searches out Chad’s eyes with the kind of trust Chad’s used to receiving from only two people.

He waits until Kane’s subdued murmur lessens and then he’s whipping out Jensen’s phone and blessing the lack of a passcode.

Danni answers on the second ring and she’s breathless in a way that usually has Chad’s latent inappropriateness chomping at the bit, so to aptly speak.

“Dan?” He says, and she comes on quick, less irritated than he would be.

“Did you find him? Was he at home? He’s so fucking predictable. He was probably watching Shia Labeouf blow shit up.” She’s rambling in what Chad recognizes as relief, and he almost doesn’t have the heart to tell her.

“Dan,” he starts, interrupting her so quietly that her voice trickles to nothing. “Dan, does Jensen have any enemies?”

-

Jared figures that it'll probably be better to get Tom out of the house before Ryan sees him.

Tom’s stopped crying but now he's not speaking, eyes darting down to focus on Jared’s tennis shoes.

“Hey, we need to go. You can come back when you're sober.” Jared suppresses a sigh but then Tom shudders and Jared wraps an arm around his neck.

“C’mon, man. I just need you to get some rest.”

Tom catapults at that, proud head hung low and Jared drapes his jacket over Tom’s shoulders.

He takes him out the back way, does his best to ignore Ry’s not-so-quiet tears, faded from the sobs they were earlier.

Tom’s head lifts momentarily and he grabs at Jared’s hands in concern.

Jared links fingers with him, unthinking, and Tom deflates once more, turns worried eyes on the living room but doesn't protest when Jared navigates him down the driveway.

It's a long stretch and they maneuver around Lo’s Hummer and toward a car that Jared rarely, if ever, drives.

Tom makes a small sound of appreciation at the sight but it seems more conciliatory at most. Tom runs two fingers over the paint job.

Jared’s grasping at straws when it comes to how to keep him occupied and it's with some distress that he remembers how much Tom loves cars, the same passion that had formed their friendship to begin with.

He remembers Tom from before, homegrown in that someone raised him in the bayou and thought he’d be safe out here. With sharks.

He’s not a small man by any means, only an inch and some change shorter than Jared but he still manages to carry himself with the deference of someone much more compact.

He’s got some relatives that have holdings with NBC and he’s out here making an obligatory run from his parents money.

Sometimes, Jared thinks, it’s all a club where you can’t join up until you’ve pretended to have a deep-seeded issue with the bourgeoisie and your own trust fund.

Jared’s never had a problem with money. He just decided to make it how he sees fit.

He comes to LA all shiny, new brass penny, and Jared’s weak. He’s got a type, has ever since middle school and Keith Anders gave him a sloppy handjob under the bleachers right after practice.

They’re strong but lithe and he likes them to look up and up (he’s got a _thing;_ don’t we all)? But Tom doesn’t much fit that mould.

But when he meets Tom, none of that is on his radar.

Tom’s trying to get the specs on a new Tesla X and Jared’s there with Chad. Chad’s already walking kind of funny because he had a fetish shoot yesterday that he’s told Jared about in great deal.

Jared now understands more about this damn--Horse Thing than he ever wanted to know and Chad’s practically bent at the hip like an aging widow.

Tom’s got on a pair of denim jeans that look like they were once nice but they’ve seen one too many swamps and his hair is little-boy slick over his forehead. He’s lanky in that wiry sort of way and Jared releases Chad’s elbow to step closer.

He’s light.

That’s the way that Jared has him remembered, lowcountry shine.

He wasn’t as naive as he first appeared, just less accustomed to the hustle and bustle of a city this big. His family was wealthy and public in a different way than Jared could understand and Tom did well managing his appearance.

Everything he did he understood that there was a persona to attach to it. Thomas Welling was someone his father would have been proud to see him catch.

He looks at Tom now, more muscular than in the past, closer to Jared’s own bulk. He’s not a slave to the gym, not in the same way Jared is, but he’s big enough that Jared has to manhandle him into the passenger seat with a huff of air.

Tom’s a sight more sober than he was earlier but he’s still out of it, whiskey-laced breath and a cool laugh.

“We headed back to the studio?” Tom drawls and Jared narrows his eyes, flexes his fingers over pale leather.

“I’d never take you back there,” Jared says quietly, and Tom leans his head against the chill of the window, allows it to rumble beneath him.

“I just wanna go home,” Tom says carefully, turns his head to face Jared. “Can you just drop me off?” Tom’s eyes flutter and Jared glances over at him.

“You’re not cut out to be alone right now,” Jared says, and Tom grumbles under his breath. “I already made a fool of myself. I scared my kid--” Tom’s voice tightens and his hand fists where it rests on his seat.

“I scared Ryan and I left him--” Tom stutters for a second and Jared’s got to drive past his place to get to Tom’s.

“I went all the way home, and Lo still tried to call me and she sent me videos of Ryan and just. Jesus, man,” Tom whispers, and Jared’s wheel groans under the strain.

“I told you I’m here for you, Tom,” Jared says, razors caught in his lungs, “but we don’t talk about that.”

Tom opens his mouth, startled, and his face colors.

“You never gave me a chance to explain,” Tom says, but Jared can’t think on that time and handle everything that’s come at him since.

Tom’s halfway to sleep when Jared takes the last exit.

-

“He says he was in an accident,” Chad whispers, follows his line of sight to where Jensen is sprawled in Danni’s bed.

The sheets are tucked up under his chin, pale lavender at contrast with the white-wash of his face. The contusion on his cheek is staggering, painting his skin with broad strokes.

He sleeps fitfully, burrows his body into the bed and curls in on his side.

“That’s all he would tell us,” Chad says, wrings his hands out. “He was all--he’s messed up and then he passed out on Kane’s lap.”

Kane, in question, is kneeling on the floor next to Danni’s bed, close enough to hear the proceedings if he strains, but far more focused on the splay on Jensen’s body in between pillows.

“Kane fought--he kicked the guy’s ass. Some motherfucking piece of shit--who did this to him, Dan?”

Danni blinks, sucks her lower lip into her mouth with a grimace.

“He’s got an ex. He has one ex, other than that hothead in there,” Danni says, but her voice is trembling and Chad thinks she’s honestly frightened.

“Ty was--I didn’t know what was going on for awhile. Even after he left Jay. It’s a long story,” Danni continues, “but Jensen’s not safe, not while Ty’s in town.”

Danni makes to cross over to her room and pauses in her tracks.

“I can’t keep him safe,” she whines, hauls in her air. “I’d knock him the fuck out if I could,” she adds, balls slim fingers into fists.

“Don’t you worry about him,” Kane interjects, brings eyes up from Jensen’s body.

“If I gotta take him all the way home and come back here direct to find this motherfucker, you can bet on it.” Kane says this last so quietly that it’s almost docile and Chad’s chest constricts strangely.

Danni’s eyes flit from Jensen to Kane to Chad and she shudders perceptibly before she seems to make a decision.

“I know Jensen’s mad at him,” Danni whispers, “but you need to tell Jared. You’re the only one he’s gonna listen to.”

-

Tom’s place is sparsely decorated, like he’s never in the area anymore, darts from place to place in an effort to keep moving.

He’s wrestled Tom into a pair of pants that look more comfortable to sleep in and now his chest is pounding with proximity and sense memory.

He’s wondering if Chad and Kane found Jensen and returned his phone, since he didn’t get a chance to update them on what he knows now.

He thinks about that guy, quiet and protective, leaning over Jensen with a stoic familiarity Jared hadn’t yet earned.

Maybe that was the ex, Jared thinks dryly, holds tight to the open decanter in the center of Tom’s naked kitchen.

He’s gonna stick around to talk to Tom when he’s fully cleaned out of liquor and the sound of his phone jars him from solitude.

“‘Lo,” he says, hushed, and Chad comes on after an uncharacteristic pause.

“J, Jensen was in an accident,” he says, it tumbles out in an apologetic rush and Jared takes a quick swish of Patron at the confirmation.

“I know,” Jared admits, and Chad makes a funny sound. “What? What, how did you know?”

Chad sounds off-kilter and Jared frowns into crystal. “I guess you guys were still Bonnie and Clyde-ing around the city, so I was kind of--y’know, waiting by his house, hopin’ he’d show.”

Jared shrugs to make it sound less creepy in his own head, but Chad hasn’t responded. “He told me--he wanted me to go away. He said he was in an accident--well, the guy who was with him told me that.” Jared pauses, staunches the flare of jealousy.

“I think it was an ex, maybe? But Jensen asked me to stay the fuck away, Chad.” Jared nods to himself, morose.

“I can’t keep trying to make him be mine,” Jared continues, but Chad’s breathing funnily and he croaks in this deranged sort of way and Jared’s only heard him make that sound a handful of times.

“What happened. What the fuck’s going on.” Jared’s questions come out as statements and Chad laughs, all strangled and helpless.

“That was his ex, alright,” Chad says. “Guy came back to town just to beat on Jensen like he used to do in the old days.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: (as far as I can tell, notify me if I've missed any key ones,) emotional and physical abuse, conditioning due to prior abuse.
> 
> We're reaching the breakneck pace where all the secrets come tumbling out--but what are your theories on what's about to happen? SO SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER but Jared was being stubborn as hell and this is as close as he allowed me to get him.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there have been like four chapters in a row. I don't wanna jinx myself but I'm HERE Y'ALL

Jared’s a terrible friend.

He’s thinking it to himself even as he scribbles out a note for Tom, fires off a text as well. He creeps over to Tom’s bedroom, up the flight of stairs and to the left, but Tom’s passed out, stomach first, blanket swept low under toned thighs.

Jared aches just looking at him, but he recognizes that it’s a different sort of pain than before.

He replays the conversation in his head.

It goes something like this.

_Guy came back to town just to beat on Jensen like he used to in the old days._

Jared hangs up the phone. He disconnects without thinking, just irrationally certain that if he stays on for longer he’ll either scream or throw up, and neither of those is out of the realm of possibility just yet.

Locking Tom’s door behind him and dropping the key underneath a potted plant is done on autopilot. He unlocks his car from several feet away and even then he’s still focusing on the pattern of his breathing.

It’s something he learned long ago and he’s been neglecting until now.

He’s been unbridled and he’s been reckless. His anger ebbs and flows until it’s a living, tangible thing and then he staunches it.

It takes everything in him but he coasts to Danni’s place on autopilot, given the address with hushed undertones.

Chad texts him the whole ride over and Jared reads them all from an app on his dash but doesn’t bother responding. He doesn’t have much to say right now.

_When you see him, you need to keep your shit together_

_Also, Kane’s here. I know you know that, but remember it_

_Jared_

He makes the unfamiliar drive and finds that Danni’s place is almost cookie-cutter to Jensen’s. He wonders why they never lived together, but Jensen lives alone and that’s probably more conducive to his line of work.

There’s a row of picturesque mailboxes, all of them designed with some kind of floral arrangement. Jared allows his hand to run across the mixture of peonies and daffodils, and he plucks one carefully, tucks it into his pocket.

It takes him four easy strides to make it to the doorbell, and another two knocks to cause it to open.

It’s Chad who does so, entire demeanor angled toward seeking Jared out. Chad backs up to allow him inside and Jared doesn’t glance down at Chad’s face, not once.

“J, you gotta stop and look at me for a second.” Chad pauses as Jared presses past and forward. “Jared.”

Jared has yet to round the corner and Chad knocks into him bodily, causing a break in his stride. Jared reaches out to pluck Chad up and away but Chad punches him in the arm, harsh swing that has Jared focusing on him instantly.

“Are you okay, man?” Chad’s face is pinched and he’s corralling Jared with what looks like all of his strength.

“Where is he?” Jared asks softly and Chad shakes his head, no.

“I gotta know if you’re okay. I’m not letting you go in there and scare him.” Chad’s face is nothing but concern and Jared gently but steadily pries Chad’s finger loose from his person.

“I’m not going to scare him. I’m fine. Where is he?” Jared says this last pointedly, and Chad hauls in a breath.

“Follow me.”

Chad’s reluctant at best but he holds to his word. Danni’s place is around the same size as Jensen’s, if not the same layout, and Jared has to hold himself back from deliberately outpacing his best friend.

Danni is sitting on her couch, legs tucked up underneath her small body. She’s gnawing at the side of her thumb, manicured nail poking into the soft flesh below her lip.

She’s draped in some kind of oversized hoodie and she makes to stand when Jared comes into view but Chad must give her some kind of signal because she drops back to her seat with a barely audible sigh.

He sees an indentation in the bed, but Kane’s hunched over in a chair directly next to it, muttering soothingly under his breath.

His hands are kneading the blankets but he’s not touching and Jared himself pauses before he can embarrass himself.

“Kane,” Chad says, but Kane doesn’t acknowledge the sound.

“Chris,” Chad repeats, and Kane’s body stiffens. “Chris, you gotta move, man.” Kane’s head is still bowed and Chad crosses over, kneels beside him and places a hand on his knee.

“You had your time. You did. You had it,” Chad says, “but Jared’s here. Listen. Listen,” Chad says once, twice when Kane looks up, red-rimmed eyes and something like fury in them.

“Let him.” Chad’s voice runs hoarse and Jared thinks about how _tired_ Chad sounds, wrung out to dry.

He’s purposefully kept his eyes away from Jensen but now Kane stands and steps away, movements stilted like his legs don’t quite know how to work anymore.

Jensen’s asleep.

Jared barely notices when Chad hustles Kane out of the room, listens for Chad’s soft, _it’s okay, he’s okay,_ and then he drops to his knees.

He does so quietly, but Jensen’s face is half smothered in blankets and Jared can hardly make anything out. He pulls them away, slowly, and lurches back, violent upswirl of vomit in his mouth.

He watches his hand--from a distance--tremble and then Jensen’s face is completely exposed. He’s got a mass of contusions lining the right side of his face, probably worse now because they’re not fresh. It’s dark in color and grey at the edges and Jared can hear himself panting for air in the small room.

He tugs the blanket down further, best to know what all he’s dealing with, and when he sees Jensen’s throat he has to stand and leave the room.

The trio of his friends (and sometimes-enemy) are huddled around one another, Kane seated and staring at his boots.

“Jesus,” Jared whispers, and Chad’s already shaking his head.

“He’s a little banged up,” Chad admits, downplays the situation, but Jared’s got a roaring in his head and it doesn’t really matter what Chad’s saying.

There are fingers--there’s a handprint around Jensen’s _throat_ and every emotion in Jared’s body coalesces into something lead-based and heavy.

“Someone,” Jared says, (is that his voice)? “That man,” he corrects, “put his hands--” Jared pauses, not so much to collect himself as to figure out how to go on, “he’s got his fingers on Jen’s throat.”

No one makes a sound except Kane, small snuffling noise.

“He _hurt_ him,” Jared continues, not speaking to anyone in particular. “He touched him,” Jared says, and then all his words dry up and Kane’s heels scrape against the floor as he makes an effort to stand.

“I shouldn’t have pried. I should’ve stayed home and--” Kane cuts off there and Dani reaches out a hand to pat him awkwardly on the back.

Jared could interject here, let everyone know that it was him that left Jensen alone with the monster, even though the guy gave him strange vibes.

He left and headed to Lo’s to grab Tom and now Tom is gonna wake up and figure that Jared’s abandoned him again.

He wants to tell everyone that he can’t win. He’s got one thing in his corner right now and that’s his inherent sense of determination.

“Jared,” Danni says softly, all trace of humor eradicated from her voice. “Jared, Jensen’s gonna need you right now.” Danni looks down at her hands, skin picked raw from the way she’s been gnawing on it.

Jared just barely sees Kane stiffen but Chad grabs his elbow and everyone remains silent.

“Can you try and sit with him?” Danni looks up at him, hair coiled tightly on top of her head. She’s blinking back tears and Jared’s chest is making a strange one-two-step sound.

“I just need some time,” Jared says, turns to the door and strides through, locks it behind him.

-

Jensen doesn’t wake up gradually, and that’s what ends up causing him the most pain.

One second, he’s under, and the next he’s whimpering, pitiful and small. There’s a tiny hushing sound coming from some part of the room, and Jensen can’t get his body under control.

There’s a lot of light and even though it’s mostly quiet, everything feels too loud. He brings knees up to his chest and cracks open his eyes.

Hair is the first thing he sees. Long and brown, so close to his face it threatens to choke him. Jensen inhales sharply and he can’t stop the trembling, it rocks his body incessantly.

“Hey, Jen,” he hears, and that’s Jared. That’s the sound of Jared’s voice.

He can’t quite understand why Jared’s here, and so: “you left me,” he says, first thing out of his mouth, and he watches Jared take a seat on the edge of the bed--Danni’s bed? Smells like coconut and citrus.

Jared’s hands are eerily still in his lap and he looks down at Jensen.

“I did. I left you.” Jared sounds like he’s confessing something and Jensen tries to sit up because Jared sounds so strange; there’s a component missing from his voice that Jensen just can’t put his finger on.

“I left you alone with him and no amount of apologizing is gonna change that.” Jared’s calm and Jensen’s heart trips a little wildly at the sound.

“I was scared,” Jensen admits, which isn’t what he meant to say but he’s so TIRED of thinking.

“I know,” Jared says, and then he’s smoothing a hand over Jensen’s cheek. Pain flares through him on contact and he flinches, glancing up at Jared in confusion.

“He hit you here, baby,” Jared explains, still so soft and mellow that Jensen uncurls his legs just a bit to brush against Jared’s thigh.

Jensen’s hand makes an aborted flutter up to his throat and Jared catches his palm in five fingers. “There too,” Jared continues, and Jensen flushes because he knows how he looks.

He’s stared at his face in the mirror enough times to know how it blossoms under Ty’s hand. He averts his eyes, pulls away from Jared’s grasp because he’s ready to go back to sleep.

“Don’t do that,” Jared admonishes, and Jensen shakes his head so hard it hurts but that’s okay because he needs to understand.

“I’m sorry, Jared,” Jensen starts, “I got into an--an accident and he’s in town for his little sister’s wedding and he was the only one who saw me. I can’t remember what--what I did with my phone and my car’s totaled and I just.” Jensen shudders.

“I pissed him off on purpose. I knew he was gonna get mad. That was my fault. He did that because I made fun of him.” Jensen nods firmly, barely looking up to see whether or not Jared is following along.

“I don’t want you--I made the mistake.” Jensen looks up and recoils almost instantaneously, because Jared looks horrifying. He’s wearing a grimace and Jensen has to quell the urge to run.

“When I was oh, I don’t know, thirteen or fourteen, Chad could probably tell you better,” Jared begins, scoots up the bed so that he’s laying on his side.

He drags Jensen in so that they’re facing one another and Jensen’s forehead dips so that it’s resting on Jared’s collarbone.

“When we were pretty young,” Jared muses, “I tried to plan out how I could get away with killing my father.”

Jensen stiffens inadvertently but Jared runs a heavy hand over his spine and tucks him so close that their groins are almost touching.

Jensen squirms forward on sense memory alone and Jared chuckles darkly. “Oh, Jen,” he says softly, “I don’t know what to do when I’m around you.” Jared’s hand dips below his pants to cup possessively at his ass, languid without expecting anything.

“I can’t--I don’t know how to _think_ when I’m with you,” Jared adds, whispers it into the soft of the crown of Jensen’s head.

“Chad remembers,” Jared says, delving back into the subject at hand, “we had it all planned out. I was a lot--I was more angry back then, and I don’t know how much of that has changed now,” Jared admits, and Jensen presses closer only to be met with the swell in Jared’s pants.

“Jesus,” Jared hisses, and moves his hand so that it rests more safely on Jensen’s hip.

“I didn’t do it, obviously,” Jared continues, recites the story like he’s reading a novel he’s had no hand in.

“We ended up planning this life, instead,” Jared says, “but I always wished I’d done it.” He pauses, tightening his grip on Jensen’s body like a lifeline.

“I always thought about how fucking stupid I was to let go of that--of a good idea,” Jared wonders, so detached that Jensen’s legs began quivering again, all on their own.

“J-Jared,” Jensen whispers, “Jare, why--why did you wanna kill him? Why did you and Chad--what are you trying to tell me?” Jensen can’t finish a single thought and Jared kisses him again, this time he tilts Jensen’s chin so he can meet his mouth.

Jensen mewls in want and Jared swallows it whole, spans both large palms over prominent hipbones and drags Jensen in so that they’ve become one.

Jared breathes against his mouth when he releases, tickles Jensen’s eyes with hair.

“I can’t let this go,” Jared says. “And the thing is, I don’t really want to.” Jensen pulls his hands from where they’ve snaked around Jared’s waist and burrows deeper into his makeshift cocoon.

“I don’t know--what are you saying?” Jensen knows there’s some point he’s missing but he’s playing connect the dots with about half of the lights on upstairs.

“I’m in love with you,” Jared says quietly, and his voice quakes with the admission. Jensen rears back to see but Jared places a palm on the back of Jensen’s head to keep him in place.

“I love you so much I can’t see anything else, and I’m never gonna forget that he touched you.”

Jensen’s air comes out in shallow puffs against skin and he doesn’t know when confusion and awe give way to sleep.

-

Danni’s feeding Kane shots interspersed with some kind of pastry because she refuses to let him drink on an empty stomach.

It’s because of this that Chad’s the only one to greet Jared when he finally leaves Jensen’s room.

Chad catches one good look at him and manhandles him so that they’re out of sight of the other two.

“Oh, fuck you Padalecki,” Chad groans, presses close to his best friend just to shake him by the collar. “Fuck you. You’re gonna try this shit alone, ain’t you?”

Jared sags against plaster and Chad releases him with no small amount of disgust.

“Jared,” Chad tries, and Jared finally meets his gaze, mouth quirked up. “You remember when we stole my dad’s Beamer? The classic one, the one mom got him for his birthday?”

Chad nods; he recalls that night, Jared, still walking stiffly and just coming into the muscled man he’d one day become.

Streetlamps had shone oddly on his face and Chad remembers thinking that he’d never seen anything like Jared. That he’d probably never see anything to compare ever again.

He takes a step back to remind himself that although he hasn’t changed, Jared has. He stopped trying to look a long time ago.

“We were gonna just, leave. Me and you.” Jared knocks his head back and Chad reaches up instinctively to pat at his forehead.

“Yeah.” Chad pauses, eyes raised to the heavens. “But you just got your license and I couldn’t leave my mom.” Chad admits the last quietly and Jared straightens, hums under his breath.

“And I couldn’t leave mine.”

The unspoken admission follows, _but you did_ and Chad braces himself for when Jared decides enough is enough and pushes past him and out the front door.

“I’m not leaving this time,” Jared says, and Chad has about a dozen arguments about why this is a terrible idea. When Jared had first considered killing Gerald, he and Jared were kids. They’d had a lot of valid reasons but they were still children playing at doing a man’s job.

Jared doesn’t have the same gleam in his eyes but something much worse has replaced it.

“You already know that this is fucked up in so many ways, right?” Chad tries to meet Jared’s eyes and Jared finally looks down.

“We almost did it,” Jared repeats, “and I still never touched that account, not even after all this time.”

“It’s not the same, J,” Chad tries, ducks his head out from behind Jared’s shadow to see Kane stumble, brace himself heavily against Dan.

“It’s exactly the same,” Jared insists, and then he’s reaching in his pocket for his phone. “Yesterday Tom showed up at the house drunk as fuck and scared the shit out of Lo and Ry,” he says, and Chad raises a brow.

“Did you clean that up?” he asks, and Jared shrugs with a long suffering sigh. “He’s really messed up, man. I need to go and see if he’s okay.”

Chad’s head’s spinning, doesn’t want to know what all Jared’s got himself into.

“You know they’re not your responsibility, right?” Chad shuffles forward when Jared angles his body to the front door.

“Jared.”

His best friend is actively attempting to leave and now Chad’s getting pissed. He raises his voice to a high whisper and knocks Jared back a step or two.

Jared looks confused at the disruption and then he’s grabbing Chad by the shoulders to bodily move him.

“Fucking listen to me, man. They made their bed. Listen! You know how it went down, and even if you never wanna talk about it, it _happened._ ” Chad’s breathing heavily but Jared’s finally motionless.

“He slept with Lo. They did that. When we went home for a visit they fucked in your _bed,_ Jared, and then they had a kid together and this is _not_ your fight.”

Jared’s head hangs low and Chad can’t see his face. He’s gotta fight against the irrational upswell of tears because no one gets Jared like he does.

Even Jensen, laying in Danni’s bed and brutalized by some guy he probably thought he loved, even he doesn’t know.

That’s no fault of anyone but Jared, though. Jared won’t open up and Chad’s the only one who’s been there from the beginning and has knowledge he never asked for.

“It’s not that simple,” Jared whispers, and Chad knows he’s got him.

“That’s how it went down. And Lo hasn’t let you go since. This is not your fault, man.” Jared doesn’t say anything to that, but Chad’s not done.

“I’ll help you. I’m an idiot, but that’s never stopped us before,” Chad pauses. “But you need to talk to your boy,” he adds.

“You need to be honest.”

Jared’s eyes are clouded in red and they both jump when Kane hits the floor with a crash and Danni curses at the top of her lungs.

Kane laughs the whole way down.

-

The second time Jensen wakes up he’s more aware of his location but there’s a yell that sounds surprisingly like Kane does when he’s been chucked off of his favorite mare.

Jensen’s surprised at the lucidity of the thought but he still cringes backwards when the door cracks open.

Jared comes through, jaw tense, and Jensen follows the line of veins spiraling up his neck and to his temple.

His heart beats erratically and he spends three minutes convincing himself that Jared isn't here to hurt him.

It’s so fucking stupid to think of.

“I was gonna go,” Jared says, and Jensen pulls his body back against the cushions.

“Why didn’t you then?” He asks, quietly wonders if Jared told him he loved him in a dream or if he just wants to will it into reality.

“I got a best friend and he told me I needed to talk to you,” Jared says, looking sheepish.

He sprawls out on the empty slice of the bed and Jensen scoots so that there’s space between them. Jared looks pained at the separation but seems to accept it with a sigh.

“I wasn’t lying, Jen. I love you. I don’t know when it started but here we are,” he says, motions widely and Jensen ducks his head to keep from smiling.

“But I also don’t wanna lie to you anymore,” Jared says, takes a deep breath. “There’s shit I wanna tell you about my family but I need some time to sort through all that, is that okay?” Jared sounds so hopeful that Jensen nods vigorously before regretting the action.

Jared drags him close, pulls him onto his lap and Jensen sprawls out awkwardly until he’s got his legs fastened on either side of Jared’s hips.

“Jeff raped one of my best friends,” Jared reminds him quietly, “and then he and my girlfriend slept together. They had Ryan after that.”

Jensen reaches up his hands to pull Jared close, breathing sporadic. “Jesus, baby,” Jensen says softly, kisses Jared soundly even when Jared pulls back for air.

“I love you so goddamn much,” Jared says, forehead kissing forehead. “I’m never gonna forgive the motherfucker that touched you. I’m never letting you go.”

Jared’s trembling and Jensen locks his thighs against Jared’s and rocks down, slings his arms behind Jared’s neck.

“I never wanted you to get involved,” Jensen whispers, slow circles of his hips where he can feel Jared growing firm underneath him.

“Jen, Jen,” Jared says, raises callused palms to the thin jut of Jensen’s hips. “Not with you like this, not with you so hurt--”

Jensen makes an ugly sobbing sound and buries his face in Jared’s neck. “I just want you,” Jensen says, grits his teeth at how wet his eyes are.

“H-his hands were on me--and I just--” Jensen breaks off and whimpers at the grip that Jared’s suddenly got on his waist.

“Did he touch you? Jensen, did he touch you there?” Jared’s voice is so low and dark that Jensen can’t breathe.

“Please, please don’t worry about it,” Jensen tries, but Jared’s already too far gone.

“Do you still want me, baby?” Jared says, changes tracks so quickly that Jensen has trouble keeping up.

Jared moves his hands from hips to cut into Jensen’s ass, dig into thick flesh. Jensen blushes, knows he’s lost weight lately and he sucks in his air.

“You know what I want?” Jared whispers, right into the shell of Jensen’s ear, warm and obsidian. “I want you to ride me, just like this,” he begs, anger and want twisted together.

Jensen nods so quickly his cheek is burnt by Jared’s stubble.

“I don’t--we’re in Danni’s bedroom,” Jensen gasps, cheek twitching with a phantom ache.

Jared throws his neck back, grinds the meat of his dick into the crease of Jensen’s ass and Jensen thinks he could come, just like this.

“Not here, then?” Jared says, slips his hands underneath cotton so that he can knead and spread. Jensen winces at the sudden burn as his ass is forced apart and Jared makes a hungry sound.

“Don’t lie to me,” Jared demands, “he touch you here?” Jared’s hands are still shaking and Jensen’s dick has long since surpassed leaking into actively weeping, coating his underwear in a thin sheen.

“He t-tried,” Jensen hiccups, and Jared pulls back far enough to meet Jensen’s eyes.

“I’m coming back here,” Jared promises, “and then I’m gonna take you home and you’re gonna sit on my dick just--like--this,” Jared says, punctuates each words with a moderate thrust against Jensen’s ass.

“But you’re right,” Jared admits, “we can’t do it here. Not with our friends out there.”

Jensen smiles cheekily and undulates just that much further, if only to hear Jared’s too-loud groan.

-

It’s working out.

Jensen’s pretty predictable, manages to live in the same place after all this time.

The only difference is that he’s got new friends, even though the one who fights like he’s done it all his life sounds a lot like the ex Jensen used to talk about when he got drunk and melancholy.

He also understands that Jensen’s confused after feeling like he was abandoned.

He did.

He made Jensen feel like that and he’ll never forgive himself for it.

That doesn’t have to mean that he can’t fix it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHMYGOD Jared finally COMMUNICATED what're your thoughts dear lort


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE BE COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF SEX

Jensen’s supposed to bite his tongue but he can’t, not with the way that Jared’s manhandling his body into position.

Everything aches but whenever Jared acts like he’s about to stop, Jensen knows he can’t afford to let him. 

“We don't have to do this,” Jared says, whispers it in the space between Jensen’s neck and shoulder, that grey area of want. 

He wants to tell Jared he's scared. He wants to tell him that’s a lie; he's more than that, he's terrified, but then Jared will back off. 

Jared’s gonna look at him like he's been tarnished and he can't go through that again. 

Jared drags his legs up and hooks them over forearms, braces most of his bodyweight on open palms. 

Jared doesn't move for a long second, stares hard at the open expanse of Jensen’s body and Jensen looks away, drags his arms up so that they rest almost-carelessly across his face. 

Jared makes a noise somewhere between a growl and a whine and Jensen shivers underneath bulk. 

Jared’s moving then, instantaneous, and he settles Jensen’s legs back down, closes them up. 

Jensen’s only half-hard, quivering in equal parts fear and despair, and Jared doesn't move for a long moment. 

“Jensen.”

Jared says his name quietly, threat and promise laced together and Jensen trembles in spite of himself. 

“Jen, sweetheart, I'm gonna be real clear so I'm gonna need you to look at me.” Jared’s modulated his voice carefully and Jensen tugs his arm away just a fraction so he can see. 

“I'm not doing it, not like this.” Jared meets his eyes stare for stare and Jensen does his best not to waver. 

“I want you, but that's not what this is about and you know it.”

Jensen shakes his head but Jared’s not buying it. “I’m not gonna touch you,” Jared says, still soft but firm and Jensen struggles to sit up.

“You could’ve just said you didn’t want to,” Jensen says, stretches to reach Jared’s blankets so he can drag them up and over himself.

His air comes out choppy, each exhale stings with latent pressure and he’s abruptly winded, drops fabric to clutch at his middle in a panic.

“Fuck,” Jared says lowly, wraps both arms around Jensen’s middle until Jensen’s sitting in his lap. 

“I will always wanna fuck you stupid,” Jared says crudely, shakes Jensen a little so he’s got it. “There’s nothing about you I haven’t wanted since I first saw you.”

They’re back to chest and Jared drags one wide palm up the expanse of Jensen’s stomach to rest in the hollow of his throat.

“But we need to talk,” Jared says, strokes at fragile skin until Jensen wants to curl away. “God, can you talk to me?”

Jensen doesn’t answer, holds his breath in the hopes that Jared will grow bored and fuck him into the mattress so that he passes out entirely.

Jared wraps his forearm around Jensen’s waist and drags him backwards so that he’s even more snug, ass to groin.

Jared’s pleasantly hard but not achingly so, and Jensen squirms cautiously until Jared makes a rough sort of laugh.

“Baby,” he whispers, and then he drops his chin to rest on Jensen’s exposed shoulder.

“My Dad’s got a lot of power in the community,” Jared says quietly, and Jensen stiffens, doesn’t want to spook him away.

“Not to say that we wouldn’t--we have a lot of money,” Jared says, almost apologetically, and Jensen chuckles.

“Yeah, I got that,” Jensen mutters, and Jared’s laugh rumbles against his spine.

“Alright, smartass,” Jared says, hitches his hips up a fraction so that Jensen’s forced to gasp for air. “I think--he’s gotta be the top dog. It’s hard that my mom’s family name is so--y’know, so recognizable.”

Jared’s shaking now, imperceptible if Jensen weren’t tucked so close.

“I didn’t kill him,” Jared says, like it bears repeating, and Jensen shivers.

“It was real important that me and Jeff--that’s my older brother--that we not take shit, not from anyone.” Jared smiles, he can feel it against his skin.

“Everyone except him, of course. We fought, all the time. He knocked me down, flat on my ass, especially when he was pissed.”

Jensen struggles to turn around in the abrupt cage of Jared’s arms but he’s prepared and shakes his head; no.

“Jesus, I had so many---I was so fucked up back then. Chad was there for all of it, whiskey and rum and the joyrides,” Jared says calmly, “and the cage fighting,” he adds on an afterthought.

“I just. It made me fucking livid, for a long time, but then, it made me better,” Jared says thoughtfully, “it made me even better than he wanted me to be.”

Jensen snorts derisively, attempts to turn once more.

“That wasn’t fucking  _ helping  _ you, baby,” Jensen says fiercely, “it just made you an angry kid. It made you have to fight.”

Jared runs fingers through his hair on a sigh.

“Jeff got through it and I’ll be damned if he showed me up,” Jared says, as if he hadn’t heard. 

“Problem is, even after all that, I still loved him. That didn’t make me wanna--it wasn’t because of that.” Jared shifts them so that Jensen is finally facing him, and Jensen responds immediately, wraps his limbs around Jared’s broad back.

Jared hooks his chin over Jensen’s shoulder again and breathes deeply, in and out.

“It made me drunk and disorderly and it taught me how to--how to defend myself, but I was still just fucking around.” Jared’s fingers tighten reflexively on hips and Jensen bites back a small cry of pain.

“This is around the time I figure out he’s been beating on my mom.” Jared’s voice has dipped into a monotone and Jensen holds his breath against the sound.

He’s got a lot of issues, most of them at the hands of others, but the one thing that Jensen’s always been able to count on is his family.

“Jared. Jared,” Jensen tries, not loudly, because he's afraid of ruining whatever fragile thing that's being built. Jared continues like now that he’s started he’s compelled to finish.

His grip on Jensen has turned constrictive and his head clicks with his own pulse, reverberation of pain through skull.

He’s battered everywhere but he doesn’t want Jared to see, to know.

“I don’t think--I made sure he stopped. Because of Megs.” Jared’s rambling, stream of consciousness, and Jensen doesn’t have the heart to interrupt.

“My mother--I love her, fuck, I love her to death, but she’s not gonna leave him. She ain’t going anywhere and I’ve had a long time to accept that.”

Jared lifts his head so he can meet Jensen’s gaze. His eyes are wet but no tears have fallen and he figures that Jared’s just been picking at a long covered wound. Jensen’s not sure it ever healed properly.

“I’ve never told anyone that. Any of that. The only reason Chad knows is because he was there for all of it. I don’t ever really wanna talk about it again,” Jared elaborates, and Jensen shudder-sighs in his grip. 

“Why’re you telling me then?” He asks, trembles in Jared’s arms. “You don’t--you don’t like talking about yourself very much, and I get that, I do, but why me?”

Jared laughs, even if it’s a bit strained, and Jensen feels a little foolish.

“I’ve told you a couple of times that I love you,” Jared begins seriously, “and I meant that. No matter what you decide, I’m always gonna pick you.”

Jensen opens his mouth but nothing decides to come out and he ducks his head as claret tips down into his cheeks.

“None of this,” Jared says thickly, “is your fault.”

-

Chad’s got an upcoming trip and Jared usually accompanies him every few months, but Chad doesn’t know if he’s gonna have time, what with Jensen and all.

The thought is sobering and cruel in equal turns, but it’s not like he’s got the time to wonder about it, not with Kane currently squatting at his house, the place he’s never actually at.

It’s almost pristine in its cleanliness, the way Jared’s never is, not until housekeeping sweeps up everything of excess.

Chad bought it with his first real check and now it’s an expensive closet he can’t bear to part with in case of the unlikely possibility that he and Jared call it quits.

Kane’s baffled, pacing the extensive floor of Chad’s living room with the devotion Chad levels at cock, or maybe the nacho-cheese-fries Jared’s mom makes for Thanksgiving.

“So what, he just, he just steps in for a few months and Jay’s gotta act like I don’t exist?” Kane kicks his hat for the umpteenth time and Chad perches on the furthest armchair from Kane’s reach.

“And fuck this damn bullshit about not--not overwhelming him. I’ve known Jensen my whole life. He’s not--I’m not gonna scare him.” Kane’s trembling and he hauls back, punches the burgundy-wine of Chad’s 1k+ chaise lounge with all the petulance of a toddler.

“Jesus fuck,” Chad says, “give it a rest, man.” Kane’s neck snaps up with that and he’s flushed, but not unpleasantly so, sleeves rolled up to elbows, thick forearms on display.

“Repeat that, Murray?” Kane says, eyes hot. Chad stiffens in his seat. “You gotta let it go,” he says clearly. “Jensen’s fucked up over Jared now, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You want him to feel safe? Let him be safe, then!”

Kane’s up in his sphere so fast that Chad almost topples backwards.

“You can’t afford to talk, Chad,” Kane starts, “you’ve wanted Padalecki since we were kids. You would’ve followed him anywhere.” Kane pauses, chest heaving. “So don’t come at me with your self-righteous bull.”

Chad colors and then pales, heart tripping erratically at the words. 

“So,” Chad says, “you do know my name?” The words non-plus Kane enough to allow Chad to wind back and punch him square in the sternum.

To Kane’s credit, he doesn’t flinch, but he does let out a grunt of pain and then he’s grabbing Chad around the neck and dragging him so close their teeth clack.

“Don’t test me anymore than you already do,” Kane says, and then there’s blood because Kane gnaws his lips open as he kisses, rough and feral and everything that Chad asked for.

Kane’s even stronger than he looks, presents as pretty broad already, and he drags Chad’s legs up and around his waist and lifts him bodily from the chair.

Kane swings them fluidly and then he’s dumping Chad on his own couch, leather and sweat, and he rips Chad’s shirt a little on the swing over blonde.

Chad’s blinking stupidly, mouth parted on gasps and soon he’s naked from the waist down too, and Kane’s still dressed, staring down at him with heat and intent.

“Pretty all over, darlin’,” Kane says, and Chad twists his legs up over his chest so he can dip down and prod at his hole.

“Aw, Kane, didn’t take you for a poet,” Chad grits out, and Kane reaches hands down to balance them on the upturn of Chad’s knees.

“Now don’t you get scared when you start speaking in tongues, sweetheart,” Kane says, then he presses his own finger just behind Chad’s balls and scissors in with a finesse that Chad shudders for.

Chad’s mouth drops on a moan and Kane’s face doesn’t waver from its grim concentration.

“That’s it,” Kane says absently, “make a little noise for me, baby,” and Chad can’t help it, the mewl comes forth, unbidden, as Kane spreads him open that much further.

Kane’s pressing at the seam of his zipper but he’s not even paying any attention, he’s so intent on twisting Chad loose and wide, three fingers now in that dark place.

“Fuck. Fuck, Jesus, I hate you,” Chad says, and his eyes are wet and he can’t really see past the starburst of pleasure behind his eyes.

Kane’s hair slips down over his forehead and he grinds his free palm against the ridge of his dick. 

“Gonna make you come like this,” Kane says, voice still hot with anger but still so focused and Chad’s body seizes up into a bow.

“M’never g-gonna forgive you,” Chad whimpers, “C’mon, please, Chris, please,” he says as Kane abruptly changes tracks, and Kane finally meets his eyes and smiles wide, cerulean.

“How many more times can you say my name like that?”

-

Jared’s not comfortable leaving Jensen by himself, even as well guarded as Jared’s estate is.

He also can’t stay home. Tom’s unresponsive and Lo’s been blowing up his phone in regards to the whole situation. Jensen’s still uncommunicative but he’s clinging to Jared in a way that makes his heart ache.

He wants to take Jensen with him, but he’s not up for everything that Jared’s got going on today.

“I’m just gonna drop you off at Danni’s,” Jared says slowly, and Jensen’s eyes widen. “I’m coming back,” Jared’s hurries to amend, and Jensen bites his lip.

“I just don’t want you here alone,” Jared adds, cups Jensen’s chin in his hands and pries swollen flesh free from porcelain.

“I’m not comfortable with it. I need to know where you are and if you’re safe.” Jared’s tightening his fist but he can’t bring himself to be apologetic yet.

“Stop bossing me around,” Jensen says, but that just solidifies Jared’s resolve because Jensen sounds half-hearted. 

“You can be mad. You can shut me out and you can shut down,” Jared says calmly, and he surprises himself with the peace in his chest.

“But you’re gonna stay with Danni and you’re gonna be safe and  _ mine,”  _ Jared says, pressing so close against Jensen that he has to tilt his neck up at an awkward angle to meet Jared’s eyes.

“I’m done apologizing for how I feel about you and about how, exactly, I show it.” Jensen looks like he’s gonna speak but Jared’s afraid he’s gone too far. 

He already finds it hard to reign himself in at the best of times, so when something really matters, when someone is important to him, he’s not exactly willing to play fast and loose.

“I’m not mad,” Jensen says breathlessly, and that takes Jared for a loop. He was prepared for Jensen to curse him out, storm his way out of Jared’s life.

Jensen looks like he’s a hair's-breadth away from doing just that, but not for the reasons Jared thought. He didn’t bring any clothes from his apartment; Chad was in too much of a rush to grab them and Kane definitely just carried Jensen out of there, first chance he got.

Jared’s thankful for the man in that regard, fists flexing with the denied right to pummel Jensen’s ex back to Hell where he belongs.

“I’m not mad,” he repeats, “you take--you’ve never tried to change me,” Jensen says, “and I don’t want you to stop being you,” Jensen continues, “and I want--I know you wanna, you wanna talk about everything, but please, please--” 

Jared can’t stand to hear Jensen so pitiful, soft sobs rocking his body. He’s curling too-pale fingers in the hem of one of Jared’s old Cowboys jerseys, and he’s so tired that Jared’s not even certain he’s got anything on underneath.

“Jesus, baby, whatever you need, whatever you want,” Jared rushes to soothe, runs his palms up the sides of Jensen’s arms.

They’re supposed to be on the road right now, Danni’s on the way home from an appointment and she’s ready to watch over Jensen like a hawk.

“You won’t give it to me!” Jensen cries, desperate, and Jared cups the back of his head and drags him forward, hairline to chest.

“You won’t just. You won’t have sex with me, and I know I look. I know I don’t look like I usually do, and I have bruises and I.” Jensen stops, hiccups with tears and Jared leans his head far enough back to get a good look at his face.

There’s a purple-summer of discoloration on his cheek, more grossly vibrant because it’s healing. His neck is still dotted with the imprint of someone else’s hands, large and indigo-night.

Jared’s barely aware that he’s vibrating, shaking Jensen’s body from where it’s resting against his own. 

Jensen’s nodding like he’s just now seen everything he needed to in Jared’s face, and Jared takes a deep breath.

“I don’t wanna hurt you anymore. I don’t--I can’t see you and not think about killing him,” Jared admits cautiously, and Jensen bows his head forward.

“He’s the last one that touched me,” Jensen counters, and that wounds Jared more than if Jensen had just walked away.

He can’t trust himself to speak, just tucks Jensen close and drags the jersey up by bunching the fabric in his fist. He’s got his chin resting on the crown of Jensen’s head and so he feels rather than sees Jensen shiver as cool air hits his ass.

He was right, nothing underneath there, just the high swell of flesh, softly pink with Jen’s all-over blush.

Jared moans in appreciation, spans one palm around the left cheek, his other hand still occupied.

“Don’t say that to me,” Jared says, digs five fingers into the skin until it blossoms red underneath his hand. 

Jensen arches forward as Jared’s hand dips into the crease of his ass and Jared can feel the hot line of flesh press against his thigh.

Jen’s trembling, high whine gurgling in his throat. “Fuck,” Jensen whispers, “I only want you in there,” he completes, but he’s strung so tightly that the words are slurred and Jared can only make out the impression of them.

Jared snakes his thumb inside all of that heat, rubs gently at the opening and Jensen struggles to tiptoes on the entrance.

It’s hot and tight and  _ slick _ and Jared almost withdraws his finger entirely at the surprise. Jensen sighs, moist heat on his neck, and squirms impatiently.

“Don’t even have to get me ready,”Jensen coaxes, like he really needs to be goaded.

“Please, please,” he says, all wound and wanton and Jared’s heart is tripping at a too fast pace. His dick’s leaking and now it’s colliding with Jensen’s and Jared can’t really breathe anymore.

“You’re fucking crazy,” Jared laughs, pained. “You know that? Like I’m ever gonna say no to you.” Jared presses two fingers in, doesn’t bother with gentility because Jen’s already stretched, sopping loose down the valley of his ass.

“I’m always gonna want in here,” Jared says, punctuates the words with a sharp twist and he moves his other hand to pry Jen’s cheeks apart, hold him strained so Jared can look down at what’s his.

He massages the rim with the thumb that was helping hold Jensen open, still scissoring wildly, and Jensen’s humping his leg, all out of breath and loud, whines leaking.

“Not like this, you don’t,” Jared says, turns Jensen around completely and he moans at the loss of fullness, blinks lethargic green up at him.

Jensen’s lashes are wet with discouraged tears and his brow is furrowed, abused flesh still tucked in his mouth. 

He’s not for anyone but Jared. He shouldn’t even be allowed outside, Jared thinks possessively.

“Climb on, baby,” Jared instructs, pushes sweatpants down and his cock juts free, angry and bruised-looking, tipped toward Jensen like an offering.

Jensen wraps a fist around it first, smears pre-come around the head in awe and Jared jerks forward involuntarily.

“No, you get on up here,” Jared says harshly, “come and sit on me,” he says, less stringently, because Jensen lifts one leg and Jared hooks his forearm underneath so he can leap up.

Jensen buries his face in Jared’s neck as soon as he’s cradled and it’s up to Jared to push himself inside, stumble backwards until spine meets wall and the impact has him impaling Jensen in one relatively smooth go.

Jensen’s mouth pops open as he’s stretched by miles of dick and then he’s panting, weak against Jared’s throat.

“Jus’ like that, oh, Jesus  _ Christ,”  _ he wails, and Jared adjusts both hands so he can bounce Jensen better, drag him forward and backwards on his swell of dick.

Jensen’s fingers are digging wounds into Jared’s shoulder blades but he doesn’t much care, only wants to fuck Jensen dry so he never remembers that Ty had hands down there, that the motherfucker so much as breathed near him--

He doesn’t realize he’s speaking aloud until Jensen raises his head to look at him, tears streaked down his face, mouth actually bloody where he’s pierced skin.

Jared’s head tickles his sweaty forehead and he’s still jerking Jensen around like a rag doll, can feel the cross of Jensen’s ankles on the small of his back.

“Jesus, I mean it,” he says, watches the doll-wide slant of Jensen’s eyes. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him just like anyone else that fucking touches you or--or, fuck, looks at you,” and Jensen comes first, shocks both of them, spills wet and thick against each of Jared’s shirts.

His little pink mouth is open in bewilderment and he scream-sobs his way through the climax, limp body jerking with aftershocks.

Jared fucks him through it, same unwavering, furious pace, because he’s so goddamn unhinged that anyone thought they could ever put their hands on Jensen and survive to regret it.

Jensen’s still making bit-off moans, hands clutched in Jared’s collar when Jared finally comes, plugs him full of promise and it drips down between them, almost too much for his worn-out hole to contain.

Jensen can’t walk when Jared lets him down, allows himself to be manhandled so Jared can clean him up as best he can.

He’s still leaking, albeit sluggishly, and Jared plugs him with no small level of satisfaction, grins ferally at the way Jensen sucks it on in, the loud hitch of breath that says Jensen felt the intrusion, no matter his level of exhaustion.

Jared dresses him too, another pair of sweatpants too short for Jared but still too long for Jensen, and a hoodie this time, pulled over his face for modesty.

He doesn’t protest when Jared tucks him in the passenger seat and he falls right asleep on Jared’s shoulder as he takes them to Danni’s, right where he said he would.

-

Jensen comes to on Danni’s couch, face still sore in that residual way that means you’ve been worked over pretty well.

His ass is stuffed full, and he shivers, remembers Jared’s quiet apology, but there was no time for a shower and he didn’t figure Jensen would like leaking everywhere.

It’s mildly comforting, feels like Jared’s still keeping him open.

He sits up slowly, loose feeling you get after coming long and hard and he blushes when he remembers what made him come, Jared’s eyes, glassy and determined.

He looks around for Danni and he can just make out the sound of puttering in the kitchen.

“Danni,” he calls out, pretty pleased she wasn’t sitting basically on top of him like she would’ve normally, just so she’d be the first to see him wake.

“Dan, did Jared say when he’d be back?” He feels stupid calling out to the apartment but he’s too wary to head into the kitchen and be subjected to whatever concoction she’s whipped up.

When she doesn’t answer, he pulls himself to his feet with a small grunt of exhaustion.

“I’m not tasting anything,” he says in warning, rounds the corner in chagrin. He scratches at his temple and stumbles backwards, collides with the doorframe when he sees the broad back at Dani’s stove.

“I never got to make you that soup,” he hears.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my porn hands are rusty and un-lubed but tell me what YOUR THOUGHTS ARE  
> shout-out to those fuckers who saw Kane/Chad coming a mile away


End file.
